A Story of Now
by itusedtobefun
Summary: If Gail had got her wish from 'It Has Been a … Day' and met Holly when she was younger. Here Gail is nineteen, on the threshold of adulthood, deciding what she wants, what direction her life should take, and which people she wants to take on that journey with her.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

**This … is an experiment.**

**I guess it is what you call an AU. When I finished my first story for this pairing and asked readers for prompts for stories, someone PMed me and asked if I'd consider writing to that moment in 'It Has Been a … Day' when Gail said she wished she had met Holly when she was younger.**

**Back then I started and then abandoned this for Points of Departure. A month or two ago, I pulled it back out and have been playing around with it while finishing my last story.**

**I know AUs can be alienating for some, so you should probably be forewarned that there are no current characters from RB except Gail, Holly, and the Pecks in this. There are a couple of characters from my earlier stories. **

**Oh yeah, and it is from Gail's point of view only this time. Holly stubbornly wouldn't 'speak' as a narrator in this one, for some reason. But don't worry, she will very much be there. **

**Also, this will be long like the others, and probably a slow burner, I think, so it also might not be for you if you are impatient about pairings.**

**There, consider yourselves warned of all the reasons not to read it! You can decide for yourselves.**

**This first chapter is kind of long, intended to introduce to Gail's 'world' in the story.**

******Anyway, sorry, I'll shut up now. Read on if you want.**

* * *

I

It's times like this Gail know she has to dig the deepest. It is in these vital moments she has to call on everything she has ever learned over the years, utilise all she has been repeatedly shown, harness all the resources that have been handed down to her.

Because this is where it all pays off: in the art of stealth.

It starts at the door, where she knows that with a careful turn of the wrist and a firm grip, it will open without a sound. And she knows that with just the right amount of pressure from her shoulder, the thick wooden door will slink open without protest and or a single squeak or creak to alarm the occupants of the house to her presence. Pushing it gently shut behind her she turns, quietly kicks off her boots, and picks them up, padding silently across the carpet in the darkness of the downstairs floor.

She stops at the entry of the living room, listening closely. Aside from the hum of a refrigerator in the kitchen and a car passing slowly on the quiet suburban street outside, there is not a sound to be heard in the downstairs area. Relieved, she turns and bolts for the foot of the stairs but then stops, one hand on the banister. Chocolate. She wants chocolate. No, scratch that, after that shift, she _needs_ chocolate. She pauses again; listening carefully, and then makes dash for it, doing a quick sweep and grab of the pantry.

Relieved to make it this far, she heads for the stairs again, frowning, stuffing the chocolate in her back pocket, ready to attack the stairs.

And this, right here is the problem with the fact she is still living at home.

It's bad enough she is still living this closely within the radius of her parents' will and their many, many ideas about how she should be running this thing she'd loosely call a life, but lately, the effort to avoid them has made it even worse. Every single night is like this: a furtive exercise in getting in the door and up the stairs and to her bedroom without being seen or heard by either of them. Gail is even dodging her father these days, which feels weird. He's usually fairly easy-going, or is at least capable of a conversation without it turning to nagging ninety-five percent of the time, but lately even he has started in hard on that enthralling subject called 'Gail's Future', acting like what she is doing now doesn't count for a single thing.

He keeps saying he doesn't like her job, suggesting she come and work doing admin at his office instead. What he can't seem to get into his head is that Gail has no plans to ever, _ever _master the spreadsheet— unless it turns out they magically help immunise babies in third world countries or defuse bombs single-handedly or something. Then maybe, just maybe, for the sake of humanity she'll consider it. But even then _nothing_ will induce her to learn to touch type.

Hearing a small sound upstairs, she freezes, clutching the banister and debating flight or fight, should it arise. But then it quiets and she begins to breathe again. Setting her shoulders once more, she is ready to move. She tiptoes up the carpeted steps in the darkness, knowing the next part is critical— getting past her parents' bedroom. She clutches her keys tighter in her hand so they don't jingle and is ultra careful to step on the very outside edge of that one creaky step, second from the top. She pads slowly to the end of the hall, giving her parents' room a wide berth. She can hear them talking from behind the closed door— well, she can hear her mother talking. Her father is probably doing what he always does; listening, or doing a stellar job of pretending to listen.

Gail gets to her room and quickly and quietly opens the door. She ducks in and shuts it behind her, pressing herself against the back of the door. Taking a deep breath, she congratulates herself on another operation well done. Flicking on the lamp next to her bed, she throws her bag onto the floor and flops on her bed, reluctantly picking up the piece of paper left on her pillow, readying herself for her mother's latest onslaught of "opportunity".

This time it's a flier for an information night for the police college. Gail sighs and rolls her eyes. This is one of the regulars. Every six weeks or so, whenever the college schedules another one of these nights, this particular flier will appear like clockwork in her room, or turn up on lying casually on the kitchen counter. Like Gail doesn't know enough about policing already. Does she really need an information night? She wonders why her mother bothers with these ones.

But her mother has something for all the other days of the year, too. Every night, nearly, there is something different, an advertisement for a job, or a brochure about some sort practical skills-based course she could be taking to become more 'rounded' and employable. Last week she even found a list of handy buzzwords to be used when writing a resume. After their last battle _royale_ over her life choices, and Gail threatening to move out, this is Elaine's new, supposedly non-intrusive way of showing Gail all the options she could be exercising instead of studying what she thinks is a flaky degree part-time and working crappy jobs. This, apparently, is her mother backing off. It won't last, and it's still annoying, but it is definitely better than when she is in full attack mode.

She tucks her hand under her head and idly reads the flier, even though she has read it before, and she still has zero intention of going. Of all the options her mother has placed before her over the last six months, this one is the one Gail is least likely to take up. And it is because Gail knows it is the one her mother would like her to take most.

There is a soft tap on her bedroom door.

Gail jumps, sighs and frowns in a rapid chain of reactions, not expecting to be disturbed so late. Setting her jaw in anticipation of another late evening onslaught, she hauls herself off the bed, carrying the sheet of paper. Experience has taught her that is better to answer the door than let her in. Because if Elaine comes in, it is next to impossible to get her out in under half an hour. And Gail has been known to time these mother-daughter conferences, trying to beat her own record for minimum contact. The best technique, Gail has now learned, is to open the door slightly, and lean out, blocking the entrance and conducting the exchange right there in the hall so her mom can't invite herself in and sit down and get into what she seems to think passes for real heartfelt territory for as long as it takes for Gail to pretend to give in to whatever it is she wants from her this time.

She checks her watch and pulls open the door a fraction. "Mom, I'm kind of tir…"

But it's not Elaine. And it's not her father, either. It's her stupid, beautiful brother grinning at her. She flings open the door, lets out a small whoop and flings herself on him, grinning. He staggers backwards into the hallway.

"Hey!" she yelps.

"Sssh!" he tells her as she releases him, pushing her back into her room, clearly not wanting their mother out here any more than she does. He's probably already had to sit through the third degree over dinner.

"Dude, you need a haircut," she tells him, laughing and backing into the room, affectionately pulling at his floppy ginger hair, grown unruly while he's been gone.

"Trust you to get straight to the life and death stuff," he chuckles, combing his hair back into place with his fingers and looking around her room.

"Okay, so what are you doing back, and what are you doing _here_?" she asks, sitting down cross –legged on the end of her bed, ignoring his dig and taking in the welcome sight of Steve, ridiculous hair and all. It's been nearly two months since she last saw him. They'll be bickering and sick of each other within days, she knows, but right now, just this moment, it's really, _really_ good to see his face.

He parks himself in her desk chair, leaning back and rubbing his face, clearly exhausted. 'Well I'm back because the UC job finished, and I am here because Elana is mad at me for going undercover,"

"What?" Gail screws up her face. "She's mad at you _now_? But you're back?"

"Oh," Steve sighs, grinning, rueful. "She was mad at me before I left. She was mad at me the whole time I was gone and she is mad at me now I am back," he sighs again. "So she kicked me out the minute I got home."

Gail smiles. Steve seems to have developed a thing for difficult women of late, and this Elana girl he has been with for the last six months or so is a total wingnut. Gail used to love to taunt Steve that he chooses these kinds of women because of their mother, that he is just looking for a replica of her. That was a favourite until Steve realised, in turn, that telling Gail she is just like her mother was perfect endgame for any argument. Now she's stopped mentioning it all, and so has he. Now they both know the power of the just-like-Mom taunt it has negated itself, yet in no way lost its power.

"So, how was it?" she asks.

"It was okay," he tells her, frowning. "A bit hairy at the end, though."

That's all he says, and that's all she asks. She's learned from her family over the years the sanctity of the silence around undercover work, the importance of what people can and cannot say, even to their friends and family. And because of the little she does know, she has also learned to be thankful every time Steve, one of the star rookies of his division, already getting some of these assignments, comes home.

"I'm glad you're okay," she tells him, reaching out for the chocolate, forgotten on the bedside stand, and tearing it open.

"So am I," is all he says, picking up a book from the pile on her desk and flicking through it. "This is not in English, Gail," he says, pulling a face and holding it up.

"Well freaking duh, Steve," she tells him as she pops a square in her mouth. "That's the point."

"What does one _do_ with a degree in French, anyway?" he asks, still looking at the book.

"Oh _shut up_," she growls, putting another piece of chocolate in her mouth before she has even swallowed the first. "Mom asks that at least once a week."

He puts the book down, grinning. "So, how is everything?" he asks. "Still working in that trashy bar?"

"Nope," she tells him, chewing and grinning. "Working in a different trashy bar."

"And is Mom still playing career counsellor?"

"And _how_," Gail tells him, holding up the flier for the police college, rolling her eyes. "Found this on my bed tonight when I got home."

Steve looks at it and chuckles. "You've got to give it to her, she never gives up. No child left directionless with Elaine Peck." He holds his hand out for the chocolate.

"Yeah," Gail sighs. "I need to move out." Not that she can afford it. She breaks off another hunk of the chocolate and throws the rest of the block to him.

"Maybe you should actually go," Steve tells her, catching it. "Not move out— to the info night, I mean."

"What?" Gail says, raising her eyebrows, mouth open. "Wait. Why?"

I don't know," he shrugs, smiling and breaking off a piece for himself. "Because you might actually like it, you know. I know you. Even though you act like a princess, you're tough. You're quick-witted and you _love_ bossing people around."

"Shut up," she tells him again, giving him a filthy look and lying back on the bed. "And go away now. I am officially over your return and no longer happy you survived another undercover gig."

He laughs and gets up from the chair, raking his hands through his hair. "That's got to be a record." He pulls open her door. "I'll see you in the morning. Want to go out for coffee?"

"Yeah sure, but you're paying."

"I expected nothing less. Night." He tosses the chocolate onto her bed.

"Yeah, see you," she says, watching the door close behind him and picking up the remainder of the block.

She has to admit, she is kind of crazy-happy to have him back. Her brother is a bastard, but he's _her_ bastard and she really does like to know that he's alive. And she's glad to have him in the house for a while, too. The return of the prodigal son will means the spotlight being off her for a little while, thank God.

She looks at the flier, which she is still, strangely, holding in her hand. She can't believe Steve actually chimed in on this one, though, that he thinks she should go to this information night, too. It is enough to cope with the twinned expectations of her parents: her mother's desire for her to find 'direction', and her father's deceptively more simple but infinitely harder desire for her to fulfil— to be happy. Gail is not sure she can cope with her brother starting in with his projections for this family's collective imagined future for her.

She sighs. Police college. Now that would be and strange and terrifying inevitability Gail is not sure she can succumb to, marching in lockstep down the family line with the rest of them into a career in law enforcement like there is no other option, no other choice.

Well, it's not that there are no other options; it's just that Gail can't figure out what it might be that would make her happy, what exactly would fit with her idea of herself in this world. She knows she wants to do something important. And even though so many of her friends have ragged on the police over the years— mainly for spoiling their fun, Gail has been a bystander to too many cases in her parents careers and her brother's budding one to ever be able to write off the magnitude of the amazing things police do, however much the law might get in the way of a good time sometimes.

Part of her wouldn't mind being a cop, really. She'd get to help people. And she'd have inside knowledge, which would help her not make a fool of herself in training— she hopes. And she'd never be bored.

But what if she turned out to be the only Peck who was lousy at it?

She is not sure she could face the humiliation of finding that out, _or_ face the level of work she might have to put in to make sure she wasn't just yet. And most of all, she does not think she could handle the disappointment— no, the disapproving, censorious reaction of her mother if she did fail at it. Her mother does not believe in failure. And she does not believe in being bad at things. She believes that both of these things are well within a person's own power, if they put in the effort, or play their cards just right. Gail is not so sure.

She tosses the last of the block of chocolate onto her desk to get it away from her and sighs. She might not know _what_ she wants to do, but Gail knows she has got to do something soon, something real and concrete toward starting her life properly, because she can't fight the feeling of restlessness, of dissatisfaction with a boring bar job and a part-time degree that she knows she won't use- not in a career way, anyway.

At first, when she graduated Gail didn't care that she hadn't come out of high school with a solid, specific strategy like so many of her friends with their tedious, add-water-and-stir three-step life plans of degrees, weddings and babies. Not that Gail doesn't want those things at some point, but why does everyone have to be in such a hurry?

She also didn't care because she thought she didn't need the world. But she didn't realise how it would feel to realise the world didn't need her, either. Not unless she _made _it need her. But the problem is that she has no idea where to start with that one. And although she would never admit it to anyone, especially not her parents, she knows it is not going to happen with what she is doing now. She loves studying languages, she does. Being able to read book in another language, as she has found herself able to do in the last year is a source of ego-stroking pride. But she also knows her studies are stopgap, buying time, a remedy for doing nothing at all. But lately, the Peck in her is starting to think that maybe, just maybe she is starting to waste time.

She knows there is nowhere for her to go from here that she desires, no matter how good her grades. She just gets great grades because she works hard and won't accept anything less for herself, not because she has some vocation in this. The other students she's met in her classes all have plans for the knowledge they are gathering in this course. They want to be teachers or translators or live in France or are just studying it for the love without caring about a future. Gail knows she'd be a lousy teacher, and the thought of translating bores her stupid. And doing it for the love of it? Well, that's already what Gail is doing and she already knows it's not enough. Not when the ambitious, high achieving part of her that was wrangled into being— into supposed adulthood— in the Peck household shudders at the thought of leaving university no better off and no more qualified to do anything than she started it. Gail was raised to _do_, and she still feels the inexorable pull to _do _as she works her way through this course.

She just has to figure out what she wants to _do_. She sits up and tosses the flier onto the floor. Right now, though, it is definitely not going to be the police college, no matter what Steve says.

II

Bored, Gail fades out of the conversation, staring out the window and watching the world shuffle by outside, all the suits and ties hurrying off on the brief respite of their collective lunchbreaks. She stifles a yawn, hoping this will be over soon. These 'catch-up' lunches Michelle is constantly organising are becoming less and less fun all the time.

Gail already knows she needs a life plan— as a matter of urgency. Now she's also starting to think she might need some new friends.

She wishes she could make a break for it, but they have only just finished eating and it would be a bit rude to leave just yet.

"_Hel-lo_? Gail?"

"What?" She is yanked back to the table again, and to her three friends staring at her.

"Where did you go?" Michelle asks, grinning at her.

"We were asking why you quit working at that club?" Kate tells her, checking her make up on her phone camera.

"I don't know," Gail shrugs, "Mostly because the boss was a pig, among other things."

"Oh," Kerry says, frowning. "Pity. Now we can't get on the door list any more."

Gail just shoots her a look. "So I should stay in a crappy job just so you can get discounted drinks, should I?" she asks, throwing her napkin onto her empty plate.

Kelly, suitably contrite, shakes her head and looks down at her plate. "Of course not, I just …"

"Hey, how great was that place where Tara had her drinks the other night?" Michelle cuts in, changing the subject, always the one to try and defuse any tension. "I loved it."

"Me too," Kelly's eyes brighten. "I liked how the …"

Gail tunes out again as Kelly pipes up. Why should she listen? She wasn't even there. She was at work. As usual. She pushes her plate away and looks around the room, bored again.

This is exactly why she hardly ever bothers to meet these girls any more, even thought they continue to invite her. All they ever want to talk about is what they did last night, or last weekend, or their mutual friends. And Gail was fine with that in high school, when she actually did the same things as them, and had the same mutual friends. But now?

If she weren't so bored by it all these days, she'd probably feel left out. The other three are all doing the same course, Business— mostly because Kate and Kerry are such freaking sheep they couldn't possibly think up something they wanted to do on their own without Michelle. So even now, in their second year, they still do nearly all the same courses, and know nearly all the same people—people Gail doesn't know— that they talk about endlessly. Michelle and Kate are even working in the same place, a clothes shop on Speith Street. And of course, they still go out together on the weekends, too.

But Gail never, ever, had any intention of studying anything like law or business. The thought of being trapped in an office for the rest of her life with numbers and contracts and endless emails she'd be expected to answer sounds like a slow but certain death.

But the fact that she is studying something else has just been another wedge placed between her and the other three these days. Last year, at least, when Brendan still came home on the weekend and Gail didn't work as much, they all saw each other more, clinging on to those old high school social formations and power structures. But these days the only time she'd see them was when they came to the club. And then she'd end up having to serve them. And there is nothing more humiliating than waiting on your friends, especially when you know that—even though they'd never tell you— they think there is something weird about you just because you don't want to be a lawyer or a banker (whatever being a banker _even means_, Gail always thinks) one day, and that you are somehow employmentally challenged because you work in a bar instead of retail (That was a _choice_, actually. She tried retail, she hated it, she left it).

Now, with the things they used to share removed, there doesn't seem to be much left, just a stubborn clinging to each other for the sake of a shared history that is being constantly undermined by a growing, mutual disinterest.

Gail knows she shouldn't be that surprised, if she really thinks about it. Their friendship in high school was pretty much created around the fact that they found themselves in the same place at the same times, and that they were on par in the social rankings. They had similar classes and they dated from the same pool of guys and back then that was enough to form a loose group of sorts. Gail really only genuinely liked Michelle, their friendship consolidated in the last years of high school when they started going out with Brendan and Cal, who were the best of friends. Michelle is nice and smart and funny, and sometimes, when you get her in a small group, she actually had something to say.

But Kate and Kerry? They just came with the Michelle package and Gail put up with them— and puts up with them— because she has no choice. It kills her that now those two twits get to look down on her. Even with their brain cells pooled, Gail could probably outwit them in a second, yet they still seem to think what they are doing is 'better' somehow than what she is doing because there is the certainty of a job in a partitioned cubicle in a shiny building somewhere waiting for them when they barely make it through their degrees. But Gail knows that just because they can scrape a pass in business law doesn't mean anything, and it sure as hell doesn't make them better than her.

At least she can make fun of them most of the time. They definitely give her plenty of material. Like recently, just to make their poser-ing even more laughable, they have both started dressing like they work in an office already, donning pinstripe skirts and fitted jackets just to go to class, trying desperately to look the part. Kate, of course, has taken it too far, as usual, lurching from 'corporate wear' to borderline 'business slutty' with her partially unbuttoned shirt and porn-length skirt. And Kerry, barely breaking the five foot barrier looks more like a kid playing dress ups to Gail. She wonders if other students look like they are trying too hard that at their uni. Despite the high ranking and reputation of her own university, most of the kids in Gail's classes dress _pretty_ casually. In fact, the some of the students who live in the residences look downright crusty, like they didn't actually even bothered getting dressed, just threw on some shoes and picked up their books and keys and sauntered to classes, too smart and too preoccupied with their big, wanky ideas to give a crap how they look. Gail can put on some jeans with a decent top and some make up and come out looking pretty classy in comparison.

"So, Gail, what are you up to this weekend?" Michelle asks, trying once again to drag her back into the conversation.

"Working," she tells them, adding, "And catching up with Steve. He got back from a job last week."

In truth, she probably won't be hanging out with her brother because he has gone back to work after the week's holiday his Division gave him. She really just wanted to mention him as a little payback to Kerry who has, for some insane reason, harboured a mammoth crush on him for the last two years. Squat, blonde and bland, Gail knows Steve wouldn't even look at her sideways if he actually remembered to register her existence. Kerry is too sane— and too boring— for Steve.

But she also tells them that because Gail has too much pride to lose face by telling them she'll probably be doing nothing— because she has nothing to say to the people she thought she was friends with, and because she has no one else to pick up the slack, either, really.

"Well, if you're around on Friday, come to Steph Habic's party after work with us," Michelle says, scooping up another forkful of her salad.

"Maybe," Gail shrugs. She can barely remember Steph from high school, but she knows she'll probably end up going. She's got nothing better to do, has she?

"I can't stay too late though, I have to drive to Waterloo early in the morning," Michelle says, pushing the last of her salad to the side of her plate and putting down her fork. Then she flinches and sneaks a look at Gail. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Gail tells her, frowning. "You can say you're going up there. I'm okay."

She looks down at her hands resting in her lap, knowing she is blushing, and not wanting to meet anyone's eye. Her friends feeling sorry for her about how she broke up with Brendan actually feels worse these days than how she broke up with him.

"I know, but still …" Michelle falters.

"It's been months," Gail says, raising her hands, shrugging. "I'm over it," she tells them, whether it's the truth or not.

"Really? You were going out for, like, over _two years_," Kerry raises an eyebrow.

Gail just shrugs and glares at Kerry. Why is she always so _annoying_? Besides, what would she know? She's never even had a proper boyfriend.

"I know that," she says, throwing her a look, "I was there, remember?"

"Anyway," Michelle reaches over and plucks at her sleeve. "Trust me, she's not even close to being as hot as you. And she's kind of …"

"What?" Gail lifts her head, surprised, staring at Michelle. "You've _met her_?"

"Uh, yeah." Michelle says, tucking her dark hair behind her ear nervously. "Because of Cal and Brendan. I, uh, see her sometimes, when I go up and visit him."

Gail just stares for a moment, absorbing this disturbing new information. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. Why hadn't she considered this as a possibility? _Of course_ she's freaking double dating with Brendan's new girlfriend. They are probably friends too. That's how she and Michelle became friends. Why should it be any different with this girl?

Gail shakes her head, trying to dull the roar of blood in her ears. She cannot believe she was so busy trying to get over Brendan's betrayal that she didn't think of the potential of this smaller, but equally significant one at the hand of her supposed closest friend.

The anger building rapidly inside her compels her to interrogate even further.

"So, what, do you guys all go out together?" she asks, narrowing her eyes, knowing Michelle won't be able to lie to her. She's terrible at it.

"Uh, well," Michelle stammers, folding her arms. "We've been out to dinner a few times, and to some parties, I guess."

"You _guess_?" Gail shoots back. "Exactly _when_ did you meet her?"

For a moment Gail's mind flashes back to a day, years ago, when she was little and her mother took her to work, as she sometimes had to when plans suddenly changed and a baby-sitter couldn't pick her up until later. One day she'd smuggled Gail into one of the interview rooms and placed her on a stool by the window where she could look through and watch her mother and another cop at work questioning a suspect hauled in for a range of car thefts. Gail had watched, enthralled as her mother threw questions one after the other at this poor guy until he was so dizzied and exhausted she easily extracted the truth from him.

Her mother had wanted the answers, though. Gail is not sure she does.

But, driven by her hurt, she doesn't know how not to ask them, either.

"I don't know," Michele shrugs, helpless now. "A while back?"

"So you are just, what, hanging out with her now?" Gail looks out the window, biting her lip, anger and embarrassment building a great red wall around her. She feels tears threatening, pricking the back of her eyes. She cannot look at Kerry or Kate, who she knows are watching carefully, probably equally alarmed and kind of excited by this drama.

When she has managed to contain herself, she looks back, staring Michelle down. "And you didn't tell me?"

Michelle doesn't respond straight away. She looks terrified, and a bit like she might be about to cry, too.

"Hey, Gail, _come on, _quit making her feel bad," Kate leans forward. "What is she supposed to do? She's .."

"Stay out of it," Gail growls at her. Kate slides back in her seat like she's been stretched out on a slingshot and shot. She obediently shuts her mouth.

Gail turns back to Michelle. Whether she likes it or not, Kate's defence has, somehow, enticed her pull the reigns. Anyway, she can't be bothered fighting this one out. What's the point?

She sighs, mustering the last shreds of Peck dignity and pushes her chair back.

"You know what? Do whatever you want," is all she says, quietly and calmly standing up and pulling some money out of her pocket. She points at her so-called friend. "Just know that I would never, _ever_, do that to you. You should have told me," she says quietly, fiercely blinking back the tears she does not want to lose dignity by shedding.

She puts her money gently down on the table and strides out of the café without saying another word.

And no one calls out to her either.

And when she makes it out the door and onto the street she doesn't stop walking. She pushes through the crush of people trying to get back to their work at the end of lunch hour without being late, not caring who she knocks or who knocks her. She bites down on her lip and wills away the lingering menace that is those insistent tears. She knows that in some ways they have sprung as much from humiliation as hurt. And she will not give in to them

Yep, Gail sighs, stopping at the crosswalk. She feels like a complete idiot. And she _hates_ to feel like an idiot. And she really, _really_ hates to look like an idiot. Not only has the one last old friend she actually still likes totally betrayed her _and_ broken the girl code, those other two now have new reasons to look down their cerebrally-challenged noses at her. _Great_, she thinks, flinching as a suit bumps her in the side with his briefcase as he charges down the street. Now they not only think she is a loser for having to wait on people and not really knowing what she wants to do with her life, now they feel sorry for her too because her ex-boyfriend is a giant asshole and her supposed best friend doesn't care. That is something she cannot bear.

III

"Seriously, come and check this out," Nina calls out. Gail wanders over, coming to stand next to her, looking to where she is pointing.

"Would you look at what those douche bags are doing," Nina mutters, dropping her hands onto her hips.

The group of idiots by the pool table have become deeply invested in some obnoxious game that appears to involve shutting their eyes and trying to locate and pinch each other's nipples through their hockey shirts. From what Gail can tell it's like some stupid drunken frat boy version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. If someone hits the mark, they yell "nipple cripple!" and drink.

And it's only Monday.

Gail sighs.

"See, I need to record this or something," she says, leaning against the back of the bar and folding her arms. "Then every time my dad says I should go to university full-time I can show him this as an example why I should not. _This," _she holds out her hand, "is the kind of company I'd keep." She shakes her head as one of them scores a hit. "Our dog had more brain cells."

Nina pulls a face. "That's not too hard."

"Why'd we come work here again?" Gail asks her, wiping down a bottle she's already polished twice tonight.

"Better hours than the club. No gross, sleazy boss breathing down our backs. No drinks waitressing. No getting sexually harassed on the job. Free knock-off drink," Nina recites, still staring at the herd as the re-ties her blonde hair back in a high ponytail. "And we wanted to work somewhere where we didn't want to hang out, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Gail says, remembering how many times she had to fend off idiots with a well-placed heel to the foot or elbow to the side at the last job to stave off harassment on the floor, or how many times she'd had to avoid being caught in the back room with the boss. And then they would still had to pay for their own drinks when they finished a shift.

It was Nina's idea that they should find a bar somewhere near the university, near Nina's and her boyfriend's flat. Just a regular bar with no deafening house music or pretentious idiots in their poorly chosen, all-money-no-taste designer clothes: a place where they could stay safely tucked behind the bar making drinks. A place where they might get the pick up lines but not the grabby hands.

"Now, instead, we have all _this_." Gail flicks her cloth in the direction of the idiots.

Nina just nods grudgingly.

The problem is, Gail has quickly discovered, there may be no techno and no designer idiots at this place, but it doesn't matter. Now there are just other kinds of annoyances to replace them. In fact this random bar offers up a veritable pick 'n' mix of stupidity, particularly on the quieter weeknights. There are the nipple-crippling dimwit jock types such as she is witnessing right now. Then there are the weirdo loners reading in the corner booths, cradling one drink all night that have to be kicked out at closing. There are the usual uni hipsters looking for the kind of cool, no-frills ambience this place has, going gaga over the 'real authentic jukebox' one minute and then complaining about the music selection the next. Then there are the cynical and needy waiters and daytime hospitality crowds who come here for after-work drinks. There are even a few crusty, overly-earnest hippies some nights, attracted by the sign outside saying they have vegan beer on tap. Gail doesn't get that one. She didn't know there was any animal in beer anyway.

It's a motley place, and Gail is pretty sure she doesn't like it any better than the last job. When it's not weird, it's boring. Especially on quiet nights like tonight. Aside from Team Douche, there are only about six other people in the place and she and Nina have been pretending to clean for hours already in case the manager walks in. But there are only so many times you can clean a bar that is already as clean as it is ever going to be— which is not that clean. This place, like every place she has worked in, no matter how fancy, has the ingrained grot of years of drinking embedded in it, the kind that won't be lifted with a wet cloth and some sanitiser spray.

"I'm thinking of finding a few shifts somewhere else, though, for the weekends," Nina tells her, checking the state of her eye make up in the mirror behind the shelves. "Somewhere with more action."

"What?" Gail frowns, pulling a rack of glasses out of the washer. "What is it with you? I've known you for three months and you have had four different jobs already."

"Yeah well it's not like I should stick around for the pay rise," Nina says idly, grabbing a towel and plucking a glass out of the rack. "Besides, I need fodder for my memoir. _That's_ what's going to make me rich one day."

"A book about your shitty jobs?" Gail asks, one eyebrow raised. "Sounds like a real best seller,"

"It will be," Nina tells her, totally confident. "And you know what it is going to be called?"

"What?" Gail asks, not really sure she wants to know.

"From Behind Bars," she announces proudly.

"Oh, wow. I see what you did there." Gail rolls her eyes. She was right. She didn't want to know. "_Hilarious_."

"No, Gail." Nina flicks the rag at her. "It's_ genius."_

"Yeah, genius like that game." Gail tips her head in the direction of the douche brigade and their nipple-crippling.

Nina just smiles, like it washes right over her. And Gail can't help smiling too. Nina is such a damn optimist.

And she likes Nina because Nina is one of the few people in her life who doesn't care what she does. Nina doesn't care about university, or getting a high-paid job. Nina just wants to live. She doesn't quietly judge Gail, or constantly let her know what she thinks she should be doing through little comments or asides like her friends. For Nina, Gail just is what she is, taken as a fact, not a lack of promise.

That's the thing she does like about this job, too. She just gets to _be,_ with no pressure. This, of course, is exactly why her mother hates her doing work like this, because she firmly believes Gail is supposed to be someone, to do something. But no one here cares about that. Her boss certainly doesn't care. He just cares that she turns up on time for her shifts and does the job. Here, even if it is not her kind of place, she can relax. No need to look the part. No need to act the part. It's a respite.

"So, you staying at ours tonight?" Nina asks.

Gail nods. "Is that okay? Mom's on leave at the moment and she's started leaving ads for temping agencies on my bed this week." She shakes her head. "Can you believe that is the height of her aspirations for me right now? That," she says wearily, "is how low I have currently managed to set the bar."

Nina laughs. "Sure, our couch is your couch, you know that."

"Thanks." Gail smiles at her. She may be nuts, but Nina's a sweetheart.

They polish glasses in silence for a while, idly staring at the television on the shelf above the door.

Just as they finish, the door swings open for the first time in an hour at least, and a couple more people walk in, dragging in some of the chilly night air in with them. They wander to the far end of the bar and pull up some bar stools, laughing quietly, and taking books and notepads and pens out of their bags. Gail puts the glass on the shelf and frowns, picking up another. She can never understand why anyone would want to study in a bar. That's what libraries are for, aren't they? Geeks.

The guy looks up and waves in their direction.

"I'll go," Nina skips off down to their end of the bar and starts chatting with them in that guileless, affable way she has with the customers, the way that earns her all the tips while Gail is lucky to make any in a night. Gail knows she could make more if she were nicer. And if she had to pay rent on her own like Nina, she might consider it. But while she can still call her parents' house home, she can't be bothered mustering the effort.

Gail throws down her polishing cloth and carries the empty tray down to the end of the bar, sliding it back in the rack.

"So, we totally deserve a beer, right? After that shift?" the guy, a skinny looking thing with dirty blonde curls and shaved sides is saying to the girl. She nods, head down, digging through her bag.

"Which beer?" Nina asks them, leaning on the bar, smiling.

He turns back to Nina, "What have you got?"

"Ah, we've got …" Nina begins.

"Really? You're going to make her list all the beers in the bar?" Gail interrupts, her eyebrows raised. She can't help herself. It's her _pet_ hate.

The guy looks at Gail.

He purses his lips, tips his head to the side and looks at Gail thoughtfully, "You're kind of rude," he says. "But you do make a good point. Who am I kidding?" He turns to Nina, "We'll have two pints of the cheapest drinkable beers you have on tap, please."

Nina nods cheerfully and goes over to the taps.

"Actually, we made decent tips today, let's make it the second cheapest beer!" he calls out.

"Classy," Gail mutters as she wipes down a shelf, revenge for the 'rude' comment.

"Rich coming from someone working in this particular high end establishment," he says. He puts his pen in his mouth and chews the end, looking her up and down slowly. He has dark brown eyes, weirdly contrasting with his blond curls and pale skin.

"Rich coming from someone doing their homework _in a bar_." Gail retorts, shooting him a look.

"Actually we're not studying," he tells her cheerfully. "We are working on our definitive ranking of 90s heart throbs."

Gail raises her eyebrows. But before she can fashion a suitable comeback to that particular piece of insanity, the girl pipes up.

"Uh, _your_ definitive ranking," she tells him. "I _am_ actually trying to study," she holds up her book and waves it at him.

It's the first thing she has said while Gail has been there. In fact it is the first time she eyes have parted ways with her bag or her book. When she does, and Gail gets a look at her, she realises what an odd couple pairing they seem to be. He is kind of rocker, with his shaved sides, wearing a band t-shirt with the sleeves hacked off. She is just kind of sporty and studious, in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans, with tangled dark brown hair, reading glasses, and a smattering of freckles. She is tanned too, a healthy tan like she spends a lot of time in the sun or exercising. Basically, the complete opposite of Gail, who, if she were any paler she'd actually be see through and for whom exercise is up there just below grisly painful death and turning into her mother in her personal nightmare rankings.

The boy scoffs at his friend's response, tapping her hand with his pen.

"What do you mean, Holly? Your input has been invaluable. I mean, if it wasn't for you," he digs the pen in harder to get her attention. She complies, looking at him with this patient, amused expression on her face like she is completely used to his routine. "If it wasn't for you, dear friend, I would have forgotten Christian Slater actually straddled the eighties _and_ nineties, which would have thrown _everything_ off. _And_," he adds. "Your statistical know-how has been fundamental to this endeavour."

She says nothing. Just shakes her head at him, pats his arm, placating, and returns to her book. He grins, turns, and delivers a smacking kiss to the side of her head. She just smiles and continues to ignore him.

He turns back to Gail. "So that," he announces, "Is what I am _actually_ doing."

"The fact that you are making that list and not studying doesn't make you any less geeky. It just makes you incredibly weird." Gail tells him, wiping a spot on the bar just near his elbow. She returns his faux sweet smile of earlier.

"Which I am absolutely fine with," he says in a superior tone, nudging the girl with his elbow. "Aren't we?"

She just shrugs, flicking the page. Then she finally looks up at him, giving him a slow smile, leaning her chin on her hand.

"Well," she says slowly, "I still can't help wondering sometimes what would happen if you used your considerable brainpower for good, instead of for crazy."

He pulls a face at her. Gail smirks as Nina returns with the beer. She puts them down, takes their money and makes the change. She then turns to Gail, takes her arm and drags her back down the bar

"You do not want to insult them," she mutters.

"Why not?" Gail narrows her eyes. "He's a smart ass."

"Well, if you want him to spit in your coffee go right ahead."

"What?" Gail frowns. "What coffee?"

"They work at Atomica."

"I have no idea what that means," Gail tells her.

"The café I was telling you about before." Nina whispers. "It's amazing and I was going to take you there. So _behave_," she hisses.

Gail can't even remember talking about this café. Nina talks so fast and so much, that even when she's trying, Gail can only take in about a third of what she says.

"All right then," Gail tells her, throwing her hands up, more to shut her up than anything. Surely no coffee could be equal to the joy of dishing it back to this bigmouth. Besides, Gail is finally having some fun tonight.

"_And _he's cute,"

Nina places a jug of beer in front of one of the meatheads from the pool table. He turns and gives Gail the eye and a sloppy grin. She just stares at him, keeping her face frozen into a perfectly composed blank. He quickly gets the picture and slides away.

"Who's cute?" Gail asks, trying to catch up with Nina's twittering.

"The one you were fighting with. Who else?" Nina tells her, throwing a stray coin into the tip jar.

Gail look back down the end of the bar at the boy. He is waving his skinny arms around, chatting animatedly to his friend, who is listening with a half-dubious, half-amused look on her face, her hand still holding a place in her book.

"Dude, he's a runt." Gail tells her, withering. "Not to mention _gay_."

Nina looks up, wide-eyed.

"Noooo," she gasps, staring down the bar at them.

"Uh _yes,_" Gail tells her.

Nina's shoulders fall into a dramatic slump.

"How do I never, _ever_, get that?"

Gail laughs. "In this particular case, I honestly do not know."

She shakes her head, patting Nina's shoulder. Nina is not too bright sometimes.

Later, Gail retreats to their end of the bar, as far from the meatheads as she can. She stands back against the counter, giving up all pretence at cleaning. So has Nina. In fact, she's ended up spending most of the remainder of the night befriending this guy; helping him out with his list of nineties hotties. Weirdos.

Gail sighs and shuffles on one foot and then the other, arms folded. She just wants this night to be over so she can take off these shoes, lie down and watch TV and eat pizza in Nina's living room, far away from the idiots by the pool table. In the last hour they have taken to taking in turns finding new and creative ways of hitting on her each time they order more beer, throwing out idiotic pick-up lines at random. It's gross and depressing.

They are now busy teasing Nina, who has gone to collect some of their empty glasses from their table. Gail wonders if she should go help, but decides Nina can take it. She can be surprisingly feisty when she wants to be. That's another reason Gail likes her.

And now one of the guys has discovered the jukebox. He slaps the side of the machine, flicks through the choices and throws in some money. Gail cringes in anticipation. Yup, next thing she knows, some kind of stupid cock rock anthem is playing and they are whooping it up, playing air guitar with the pool sticks and singing.

She grits her teeth. Why did she ever believe Nina when she said this place would be any better? Sure, they are protected from grabby hands and sleazy yuppies, but at least these guys didn't hang out there. She wonders how much longer she can take of this. Maybe she _should_ go to back university full-time, she thinks, or the Police College, like her parents so badly want her to. Maybe mustering some semblance of ambition might be better than what is happening right now.

She watches them all join in on the chorus, fists flung in the air, and sucks in a deep breath, releasing it in a disgusted sigh.

"Uh huh."

She looks up. It's the girl. She is sitting by herself now. She pushes her glasses closer to her face and turns and watches the idiots another moment. Then she looks back at Gail, shaking her head with a sympathetic smile that stretches all the way up to her sleepy almond-shaped eyes.

"Real mental giants, these guys." she grins.

Gail nods slowly, smiling resignedly, giving her a _this is what I have to put up with all the time _look. The girl smiles wryly again and looks back down at her book, tucking a strand of her messy brown hair behind her ear as she flips over to the next page.

Surprised by her unexpected friendliness, Gail wanders away, spotting the girl's friend making his way back from the bathroom. She gathers up a pile of the glasses Nina has left on the bar for her, rinses them and stacks them in a rack.

Later, when she goes back to the pair to collect their empty glasses, they are both watching the action by the pool table. The music seems to have re-ignited the douche's passion for the game and the two of them are now watching the idiots, who are deeply invested in another round of their brainless nipple-pinching.

"They should really up the ante now, go for below the belt," the boy says, grinning.

"Then at least there'd be a risk of accidental injury. Or even sterilisation," the girl says slowly, resting her chin on her hand. "And it's got to be a plus for the rest of humanity if they can no longer procreate."

Gail snickers. She can't help it. The girl looks over at her and catches her eye. She smiles back at Gail and turns away again.

The boy suddenly leans forward, slapping his hands on the bar.

"Ooh, that was _nearly_ laughter! It has a sense of humour." He says, eyes wide. "Who'd have thought?"

Gail turns to him. "It also accidentally," she hangs air quotes around accidentally, "spills beer in laps sometimes," she tells him, deadpan.

The girl turns around, looking between the two of them, clearly highly amused, before turning back to her book.

"Wow, you are such a bitch," he says, shaking his head at Gail. He sounds more admiring than anything, though. "And," he continues, "The best part is you don't even care."

He leans on his elbow, staring at her, as if in awe.

Gail just smiles sweetly back at him. It seems she's met her match.

"I guess it's lucky you look like you do," he says. "Right, Holls?" He nudges the girl again.

The brunette just lifts her head and looks Gail over quickly, a blank expression on her face.

"I guess," is all she says, maintaining the blank look and shrugging, before going straight back to her book.

Gail turns and walks away down the bar, wondering why she just as insulted by that burn as anything the girl's smart-ass of a friend has said all night.

* * *

**Let me know if this is something you would read more of, I guess?**


	2. Chapter 2

I

I

They eat chicken salad.

They always eat salad.

Her mother always like to say she doesn't believe in carbohydrates. That's her line, anyway. It's not true, but she plays that game in public. And Gail plays the game with her mother in public too, when they inevitably end up eating lunch in one of these boring, ultra modern little cafes her mother likes, all clean lines and surfaces, as if choosing no décor is less of a risk than choosing it.

She does it because it's easier.

And because for every battle she fights with her mother, there is always a handful she cannot take up. Because if she did take up every one placed before her, she'd never have time for anything else.

So, for as long as she can remember, Gail and her mother have been locked in this mutual charade of always, ever, 'watching what they eat', ordering salads or small meals in restaurants, and making conspicuous healthy choices, when Gail would rather eat whatever the hell she feels like and not think about food in that way at all.

And Elaine does it because she really seems to believe her whole life is like that, that she really is that disciplined and health-conscious. Gail remains complicit in these moments because time and experience has shown her that it lessens the chance of yet another conversation about how she looks. And there have been enough conversations about how she looks.

Her mother has this mysterious capacity to notice the slightest shift or flux in Gail's weight— faster than Gail herself can notice, just like she instantly picks up any small changes in her hair, the way she dresses or how she applies her make up. Any gain, however small, comes with a swift warning or a small shaming; a reminder that if her mother can stay trim on the march towards fifty, Gail should be able to do so at her age.

But then, she'll complain if Gail goes the other way too. A few months ago, when everything went to hell with Brendan and for the first time in her life Gail was so miserable for a while there that she wasn't even compelled to eat her feelings, she came out of those first few depressing weeks bored of her own misery and a few pounds lighter.

And after all those years of nagging her to watch her weight, the only person who actually seems to care how much Gail weighs suddenly turned around and made a few snide comments about nobody liking women who are too skinny. And that was just another instance that confirmed what Gail is pretty sure she already knew, that she might as well not bother, because she cannot do anything right in the eyes of her mother.

And, as always, all she could do was ignore it, remind herself of what she realised years ago— something Steve told her once on one of the rare occasions he ever engaged in the tension between Gail and her mother— these little warnings and digs are more about her mother than they ever are about Gail. So Gail comforts herself by telling herself that this particular jibe was more connected to her own mother's own more concerted efforts to stay as trim as she always had in a constant cycle of exercise and diet, than anything to do with Gail's body. And perhaps it was even envy.

It's all such a sham anyway. Elaine seems to have consigned herself to a life of public denial, but they both know she eats. And they both know she helps herself to the chocolate and crisps and whatever else is lying around the house when no one is watching. They both do. Yet for the sake of peace— on one front, anyway— Gail pretends to inhabit this weird world of faux self-restraint because in all the battles that must be fought over the territory of her life, her mother's commentary about her life, her body, and how her prospects might come undone by the simply gaining or loss of flesh is something she will cede for the larger battles that are far too often at hand.

They have been shopping. This is one activity they can usually get through without any eruption between them, so it is the way they most often choose to spend their Elaine-designated 'quality' time.

"I am still not sure about that jacket." Elaine tells her, as the waiter drops a coffee in front of her. "It's a bit … tasteless, don't you think?"

Gail sighs. Of course her mother doesn't like the jacket she bought, because Gail loves it. It is a snug, cropped black leather jacket that will take her through the cool nights of spring. And more importantly, it looks good. She loves the way its snug fit and the gamey smell of leather makes her feel both hot _and_ armoured. Indefensible somehow.

"It's not tasteless, Mom," she tells her quietly, pushing the last of her salad around her plate. "It's just not _your_ taste."

Why should she care, anyway, Gail thinks. Gail bought it with her own money. Her mother sprang for some tops, though, shirts she thought might be good for the job interviews she has dreamed up for Gail to go on for the summer. And Gail doesn't have the energy to discuss the fact that there is as much likelihood of any job interviews this summer as there is to be a grandchild on the way. Because, again, why bother?

"Well, anyway, it is nice to finally spend some time with my daughter," Elaine says, supposedly casual, as she pulls her coffee toward her.

Gail doesn't respond. Instead she picks up her fork again and spears a piece of tomato, putting it in her mouth and chewing. She doesn't even like salad that much. It's not that it doesn't taste good. It's just so _exhausting_. All that chewing for so little pay off. And then you just have to eat all over again a couple of hours later.

Besides, this comment about them _finally_ spending time together, about Gail's supposed neglect of her mother of late, is just another example of the kind of bait Gail can ignore. She has to, because there is will likely be larger, less thinly veiled accusations she might find herself addressing before this lunch is out.

But of course, her mother goes in again. "I just feel like I don't get to see you much these days."

"Well, I'm working a lot." Gail says peaceably, scooping up some more salad.

And she has been. She doesn't really have much else to do at the moment so she's been taking every shift Andrew has offered. Harbouring a half-hatched plan to go away in the summer, she is saving. Not for long, but maybe just for a few weeks before school starts again. She doesn't know where either, but the thought of spending an entire summer in steaming hot Toronto, working and then just going back to study is too nightmarish to contemplate.

"I do wish you would find a nicer place to work, sweetheart. That bar sounds positively seedy."

"It's not that bad, Mom. It's just a regular old bar," she mutters, folding her napkin and throwing it on her plate. "Besides, even the nice places are seedy when you get up close."

"Well, did you know the owner of that place was arrested for drug possession a few years back?"

"Why would I know that?" Gail frowns, irritated by her mother's ability to always play every conversation like a well-planned questioning, dropping in little bombs whenever she needs to shake up an interrogation.

"The question is," she snaps. "How do _you_ know that?" She can't help it, she's mad. There goes the path of least resistance.

"I checked him out." Elaine says matter of fact, like it's a perfectly normal thing to do.

"Why did you do that?" Gail growls, sitting back against her chair. "Jesus, Mom!"

She really shouldn't be surprised, though. Her mother would do background checks on the postman if she got suspicious enough.

"Well, I just wanted to know what kind of establishment my daughter was working in. So I checked." Elaine tells, her, sipping her coffee, annoyingly calm. "Concern is a natural part of being a mother, Gail. You'll find out one day."

"It's part of being the mother of a child, not someone who is nearly twenty and a full-grown adult, Mom."

"Well, I don't see this adult anywhere." Elaine tells her, giving her that disapproving, exhausted look she always gives her when this conversation starts, like she just doesn't know what to do with her any more. "An adult would be planning her future, thinking about her career, not wasting time working in a place like that."

And because this conversation is the backing track to her life, and because they have all the time in the world for this ongoing and never-ending argument, Gail decides to nod to it and move the hell on.

"As ever, I apologise sincerely for the unbearable wretchedness of my existence, mother," she says before changing the subject. "So, what was it?"

"What was what?" Elaine asks.

"What did my boss Andrew get caught possessing?" Gail asks, picking up her coffee. "Something tells me it wasn't meth."

"It was marijuana." Elaine says.

Gail smirks into her coffee, because they both know that this is hardly indicative of a life of serious crime. Besides, it kind of explains Andrew's general dopiness, too.

"So will I ever meet this Nina girl you have been staying with?" Elaine asks, moving on, clearly aware of the weakness of her last attack. "And her boyfriend? I know nothing about them."

_Probably never_, Gail thinks, but does not say. She just shrugs and pretends to be inspecting a fingernail.

"I don't like the thought of you spending so much time with strangers."

"She's not a stranger to me, Mom," Gail says, unable to stem the sarcasm. "And if she ever finds herself out in the deep 'burbs, I'm sure she'll drop by."

"What does she study again?" Elaine asks, clearly ignoring her sarcasm.

"She doesn't." Gail sighs. Her mother knows this. It's not as if it isn't the first time she's asked.

"Then what does she do?"

"She works in the bar."

"But what does she _want _to do?"

"I don't know." She shrugs again. She's not going to tell her mother about Nina's supposed memoir. Elaine probably won't be even slightly assuaged by that prospect. Besides, Gail has never seen Nina write a word, anyway.

"Surely she doesn't want to work in bars for the rest of her life?"

"I don't _know_, Mom," Gail sighs. "I don't ask. It's none of my business."

"By the way, speaking of your friends, Michelle called the other day, at home." Elaine says, clearly changing the subject now she has lost that one. "Why isn't she calling _your_ phone?"

"I don't know," Gail shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her mother doesn't need to now it is because Gail is not answering her calls. "Michelle's not so bright. Can we go now?"

"Now that is not true." Elaine chides, taking her bag off the back of her chair and pulling out her purse. "And at least she is working toward her future. At least she will have a job when she finishes her university career."

"Yes she will, Mom," Gail tells her, ignoring the bill that is dropped onto the table. Her mother can get it— payment for being so painful. "And she will have that job for, oh, precisely three years before she is married and pushing out babies."

"There's nothing wrong with making that choice to leave work, young lady," Elaine tells her, slapping some notes on the bill tray. "Not everyone wants or can manage work _and_ a family, you know," she tells her.

Gail hears the silent "like I did" at the end of that sentence and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Only her mother could make that defence of Michelle an actual ego stroke for herself. Her mother is a master at making herself look good— in the eyes of her employees. That's how she has got so far. If Gail and Steve got to give her performance reviews, though, maybe she wouldn't do so well.

"Well don't worry, Mom," she says, cheerful, as they leave the sterile little café. "I'm much tougher than Michelle. I'll keep working in the bar right up until I give birth to Andrew's crack baby, okay?"

* * *

II

The skinny boy is back. And apparently he's Nina's new best friend.

Gail turns to look down the length of the bar, cloth in one hand, glass in the other.

Nina, for some reason, is leaning over the end of the bar, her arm turned at some crazy angle and laid flat along the surface. He is kneeling up on a stool above her, snapping shots of the arm with a camera he dragged out of his bag the minute he entered the place.

Gail has absolutely zero idea what they are doing. And if she weren't so busy watching a couple on one of the most awkward dates ever in a booth by the bar, she'd probably go and find out. But for now, she has something _slightly_ more entertaining to do.

It's another dead boring night in the bar and Andrew is upstairs in his apartment watching TV, so they are feeling free to work as little as possible, safe in the knowledge he won't pop out of the office at any moment. Sure, he could come down the stairs, but he never does once he goes up there. He'll just turn up at the end of the shift, bleary eyed and cheerful, to count the till and lock up.

So, to stave off complete boredom, she has been polishing the rack of wine glasses she just washed and not so surreptitiously watching this guy and girl try and make conversation. They turned up about forty-five minutes ago, ordered a bottle of red wine and sat down in the booth. And for forty-five minutes Gail has been watching, enthralled, as they struggle to find a single thing to say.

Okay, so maybe if it wasn't dead tonight, and if the skinny boy wasn't hogging Nina, leaving her with no one to talk to, this date wouldn't be quite as fascinating. But for now it's like one of those really bad reality shows you flick over to on late night TV, halfway through an episode, and find yourself idly captured until the end, mostly because you waste that much time trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

It took her a little while to figure out this was a _first_ date. It was the bottle of wine that threw her off initially. See, Gail would never make the mistake of ordering a bottle on a first date. She thought everyone knows that you always, _always_ choose something that can be disposed of quickly so you can get out fast if you need to. And now she can see them consumed by that very regret, confronted with the two-and-a-half glasses they each must drink before making their separate escapes into the night.

She watches them drink quickly, lubricating a conversation that seems to be made up of mostly lulls, with occasional, short tracts of one of them finding something to say, the conversation puttering along again until it peters out again. The bottle of wine had to be the girl's idea, too, because he's pawing the glass like he's never held anything smaller than a pint in his life. Totally classy. The girl is filling the conversational lags by checking her phone and playing with her hair, while he looks around the room, staring longingly at the group of students sitting around drinking beer and watching some sport crap on the TV.

And now Gail is trying to figure out which of them is going to make a break for it first. They clearly have zero in common. The girl, a pretty, curvy brunette is at least trying to pick up the conversational slack, but he, a nervous jock-looking type, doesn't seem to even know how to make conversation. When Gail went by before, taking her time to wipe down the table next to theirs, he was talking in this kind of stupefied drawl, like he's been hit in the head one too many times. Probably a hockey player, Gail thinks. Been slamming his face into hard surfaces for too long. The girl was politely pretending to be interested, clearly much more socially generous than Gail would ever be.

But every thing about their interaction, even from this far away now, suggests that this date is dead in the water.

Gail shakes her head and picks up another glass. She would never, ever, let it get this far. If she knows one thing, it is when to cut and leave. Just a few weeks ago she went out with one of Michelle's friends, a set-up. The guy, another business student, was so congenitally boring that she'd upped and left, feigning cramps during the pre-dinner drinks, leaving nothing but a Gail-shaped dent in her seat before twenty minutes were out. No point wasting any time dancing around the edge of something that you have already decided is never going to happen in a million years, she thinks. She learned that a long time ago.

This girl should take a leaf out of Gail's dating book. At least that's what she is thinking when the curveball comes. That's when she sees him lean right in and say something to the girl, grinning. The girl tucks her hair behind her ear, smiles and nods back at him. Next thing you know, they both pick up their drinks and throw down the last of them, suddenly reaching for the their things. Then he picks up what is left of the bottle and slips it under his arm. He turns around and looks to see if Gail or anyone is watching, but she quickly glances away. If they are about to do what she thinks they are about to do, suggested by that mutual head nodding, smiling and drink-downing, they are going to need as much to alcohol as they possibly can get.

She turns and watches again, completely thrown by this sudden turn of events, as they pull on their jackets and hurry out, him so obviously carrying the bottle under his jacket— more proof of his cerebral largesse. The girl gives Gail a quick, polite smile as she walks past the bar, maybe trying to run distraction. Gail gives her a sympathetic one and looks away.

Good freaking luck, she thinks, as she watches the door close behind her. She shakes her head. She did not see that one coming. Not one bit.

Now that her mobile entertainment unit has departed for the night, she wanders back down to the other end of the bar, wondering what Nina is doing. She's still with the guy, who now seems to be taking photos of her shoulder, which is currently pressed up against the mirror fixed to the wall at the end of the bar.

"Don't worry, Neen, all the glasses are clean. I took care of it," she says, giving her a dirty look.

"Oh sorry babe," Nina turns her head to face her, contrite, her shoulder still pressed to the mirror. "I'll take out the bins, later, I promise."

"You better." Gail leans against the wall next to them, checking her watch. There is only an hour left until they can start packing up. She turns and watches Robbie pull the stool over, and once again kneel on it, taking some shots of Nina's shoulder from above.

He looks up, sees her watching them and grins before looking into his camera.

"Why are you always so weird?" Gail asks him.

"Why are you always so judge-y?" He grins, his eyes never leaving the viewfinder.

"Because you are so weird." Gail tells him folding her arms. _Obviously_. "So, what are you doing, anyway?" she asks him, leaning against the back section of the bar, arms folded. "Do you purposely come in here for your insanity projects? Or is your whole life like this?"

"Actually, this time I _am_ doing homework," Robbie mutters. "I am making the familiar strange," he tells her.

_What?_

"Tell me now, am I destined to never know what you are talking about?" she frowns.

"Probably," he shrugs, moving around to the entrance of the bar to take a different shot. "But that won't be my fault," he tells her, grinning as he takes a shot of the side of Nina's shoulder and neck.

"Oh, no, yes it will," Gail shoots back.

He ignores her, instead saying to Nina, "Can you lift up your arm and just hold it up there?"

Nina obediently complies.

Gail wanders off to serve a customer, and then returns to the scene of the crazy. Nina is still holding her arm up, wincing a little now with fatigue, but stoic. Robbie takes a few more shots and then puts the camera down on the bar. "You can put it down now," he tells her. "Thank you _so_ much, honey."

Nina lets her arm drop and rubs it, giggling. "That kind of hurt. But it's all in the name of art, right? "

"Yeah, right," Gail says, doubtful. How could that be art?

Robbie ignores her and moves around to sits in his stool, "It's for class, actually. We have to take photos that make parts of the body unrecognisable. Totally conceptual." He says in a faux wanky art voice. "You probably wouldn't get it." He grins, giving Gail a look that tells her is fully aware she probably will get it, but he just can't stop jibing her.

"I gotta go do some work," Nina sighs, wandering away, still rubbing her shoulder.

"Good," Gail tells her back.

She turns back to the guy. He is fiddling with the lens of his camera.

"I'm Robbie, by the way," he says.

Gail nods.

"I think you're supposed to tell me your name now?" He tells her, putting his camera down gently on the bar surface and shrugging. "Just a suggestion. Social niceties and all."

"Oh, you just didn't seem to be into them usually, that's all," Gail tells him, smiling sweetly.

He chuckles. "Fair enough."

"I'm Gail," she tells him, caving. She can't help it. She kind of likes this guy, even if he is a smart ass.

"Gail," he says, contemplative, as though he is considering whether he will accept that as a suitable name for her. Not like he doesn't believe her, more as though he's trying to figure out if it sounds right.

Then he just nods, shrugging slightly, as if finally, silently, accepting it as her name.

"So, where's your friend?" she asks, emptying some of the glasses Nina is stacking on the bar in front of her, and putting them in the rack. "The geeky one who reads in bars?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, sipping his beer. "Probably at home studying, because she's way more well-behaved than me."

"Yes, she did seem very well-behaved." Gail smiles.

"Don't judge her, missy," He tells her, holding up his glass, a silent request for another beer. "She's one of my favourite people in the whole world."

"Yeah, but she's not mine, so I can," Gail tells him, grinning and taking his glass, and going to get him another. "Besides," she says over her shoulder, "Anyone would seem well-behaved sitting next to you."

"Except you, maybe," he throws back.

And Gail just smiles. He's probably right.

"So what do you _do,_ anyway?" Gail asks him as she returns with his beer.

He holds up his camera. "I do this. I study photography. Oh yeah, and I work in a café for money."

"You're going to do this for a living?" she asks.

"I hope so." He says, shrugging and pulling his blond hair back. "Though I'll probably have to work crappy jobs to support it, you know?"

Gail nods, although she doesn't really know. She knows nothing about photography. "What do you take photos of, for your art, or whatever? Body parts?"

"No, that was for class. We're working on form. I like taking pictures of people," He says, sipping his beer. "Whole people." And that's all he says before turning it back to her. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

Gail tips her head back, rolling her eyes and sighing. "I just spent the day with my mother, and the was the subject _du jour_. Please don't ask me that. Something easier, please," she begs.

"Okay," he laughs. "Let's start small, then. Star sign?"

* * *

III

Gail and Nina trudge down the street, hoods and a shared umbrella partially protecting them from the relentless drifting rain. The sky is a sodden mass today, sagging around their ears like a ceiling of endless grey over the city. It's not too cold, but it's miserable enough to match their moods.

They march along the sodden street, exhausted and yawning, faces not yet entirely clear of last night's make up. Gail could really use a few more hours of sleep. And she shouldn't really even still be downtown. She is supposed to go home and get ready for a lunch at her aunt's, but she can't bring herself to go anywhere near her mother just yet. The lack of sleep has made her cranky as hell and she knows that sudden un-caffeinated contact with Elaine today will not end well. So Nina, ever helpful, is finally taking her to this coffee place she has been raving about lately, to fortify Gail for her day of family fun times.

Last night was a late one. And not in a good way, either.

Being a Friday, there were a ton of people in the bar and it was like there was some unconscious consensus they didn't know about, because when it came time for closing no one wanted to budge. It was like some sort of drunken, unspoken mutiny. Everyone kept dragging out their last beers as long as humanly possible, or trying to wheedle another last drink out of Gail and Nina with bad jokes, crass innuendo, or just outright pathetic begging. Others were sneaking coins in to the jukebox to play more music, riling up the crowd and setting off impromptu dance floors wherever they stood.

Gail and Nina were not impressed, but even their best snark— and by this point even sweet Nina was getting stroppy— could not do much to dampen the collective mood. Eventually their boss Andrew had to come out and help them clear out the human refuse. His method, which Gail thought was ridiculous, was to reset the jukebox and put a really slow old song. His theory was that it would make everyone that was still there both maudlin, or inspire them to go home. At least Gail thought it was ridiculous until it worked.

Still, by the time they had cleaned down the place, shut the doors and trudged back to Nina's flat, eaten noodles, watched some crappy TV and fell asleep, it was the early hours of morning. Then, just to make things worse, Gail got woken up a couple of hours later by Nina's boyfriend Josh, barrelling into the apartment, drunk and raucous, some time just before dawn. He didn't notice her ensconced on the couch at first, and turned on all the lights and then the television.

It was the most he'd said to her in ages, as he backed into the bedroom a few minutes later, still apologising profusely. Josh is always bit weird with her. Gail's not sure why, but he mostly ignores her or, when he does talk, barely says three words to her most of the time. Maybe he doesn't like how often she stays with them. But Gail doesn't worry too much because Nina has told her to ignore him— that Josh has no say because he barely pays any rent. He doesn't get to care, she says.

And anyway, Gail's happy to ignore him. He's an idiot. A Physical Sciences student, he is obnoxious and full of himself, one of those types that thinks they doesn't need charm because he's got a six-pack and a decent car. He doesn't seem to realise none of this negates the glaring fact that he is a giant tool.

The weird thing is, Nina seems to know he's kind of an idiot. Well at least she's always calling him an idiot, but in this kind of tolerantly disparaging way, like she knows her boyfriend is less than the desired, but she also can't be bothered caring or doing anything about it. Gail is not sure if it is just because Nina likes to have a guy around, or because she doesn't expect better for herself. Either is kind of sad, really, especially considering she is pretty great and Gail is sure she could probably do a lot better than this human void.

Gail could never put up with a guy like Josh. Her bullshit antenna is too finely tuned to cope with idiots. She did that too much in high school, before Brendan, a couple of years of random dating that resulted in am extremely low tolerance for stupidity before she met a guy actually capable of conversation, who was actually of substance. And she can never understand how so many girls she has known —and knows— do put up with it. But she never says anything to Nina about him, because for one, she doesn't know if Nina needs to hear it, or she knows it already, and because Gail doesn't want to rock the boat of their newly formed friendship if she doesn't.

When they finally get there, Nina yanks open the door of the café and they hurry in out of the rain.

It seems everyone else in downtown has had the same idea this morning because the place is jammed. It is a long, narrow white space, with high ceilings, crammed with bench tables and metal stools. And every single one of those stools seems to be occupied, and the place is steaming and loud from the damp crowds pushed into every available corner.

"It's kind of packed," Gail grumbles, thrusting her hands in the pockets of her new jacket. "Should we go somewhere else?" Not that she really wants to go back out in that weather.

"It's always like this," Nina tells her, craning her neck to scan the length of the room. "Let's see if there's room closer to the counter."

She leads them to the back of the room, squeezing between tables, moving toward the counter. Gail follows her reluctantly.

"Hey!"

It's Robbie, standing in between two tables, grinning at them, holding several coffees expertly in his hands, looking as conservative as he'd get, wearing a black t-shirt with the café name on it in white letters. "Come for coffee?"

"Hi! Yeah." Nina tells him, grinning, as Gail stops herself from saying, smart ass, "what do you think?" She can't help it; Robbie seems to provoke it in her.

"There's some seats at the counter, by the machine," He tells them, nodding back behind him. "I'll be back in a second." He holds up the coffees. "I'll just take these."

They find seats at right at the end of the long bar and climb up onto the stools and Gail presses her hands on the back of the machine, absorbing its warmth.

"How are you, honey?" Robbie back, hands-free, and wrapping his arm around Nina's shoulder, giving her a squeeze. "Glad you came."

"I've been telling Gail how good the coffee is, so I brought her," she tells him, leaning her arms across the counter.

He turns to Gail and slowly raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't think you'd be able to go out in the daylight," he tells her. "I thought you'd turn into a little pile of ashes." Then he grins and leans in, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hilarious," she mutters, simultaneously rendered shy _and_ slightly flattered by his affections. She not used to people like Robbie, for whom affection seems to be second nature, even with people he doesn't know that well.

He turns back to Nina. "I'm buying your coffee," he tells her. "Payment for the photos the other night."

He stands on his tiptoes, looking over the coffee machine. "Hey Holly?" he calls out. "You remember these two, from the bar? You know, the place on Monteith Street?"

The girl from the other week sticks her head out from behind the machine, her brown hair tied back into a neat ponytail, wearing a matching t-shirt.

"Yeah, I know the one. I don't go to _quite _as many bars as you, remember?" she says to Robbie, before turning and smiling at Gail and Nina, her eyes crinkling. "Hi there,"

"Yes, Holly." He snarks. "You _are_ better than me in every way possible. Anyway, I owe Nina, so don't charge them, okay?"

Holly just smiles wider at him, nods and ducks her head back behind the machine.

"I better get back to work." Robbie tells them. He whips a pen out from behind his ear. "Tell me what you want and I'll put your order in. Mark's working your section and he's useless." He rolls his eyes. "Beautiful, but useless."

They order their coffee and he leaves them to it, disappearing into the mass of tables and people.

Nina is telling her about the trip she has planned back home as soon as she's saved the airfare, to visit her giant family back somewhere in Quebec when Josh turns up, sliding his arms around Nina's neck and kissing her loudly on the cheek.

"Hey babe," he growls in this voice he clearly thinks sounds sexy. He nods at Gail. She nods back.

"Hi," Nina croons back, turning and wrapping her arms around his waist, delighted. "You got my message. I thought you'd still be asleep."

"Nah, I wanted to see you before work," he tells her, grabbing her ponytail and kissing her.

Gail sighs and rolls her eyes.

That's it. Intelligent conversation over. Gail knows it. She turns the other way, frowning. These two are huge fans of gross, prolonged PDAs, and she's been a reluctant witness to enough of it before to know what to expect. This is another reason Gail avoids hanging out with them together. If she'd known he was coming, she just might have considered going straight home to get ready for lunch, even without caffeinating first.

Instead she ignores them, enjoying her coffee, which is as good as Nina promised, and checking out the funny stickers and cut out comics stuck to the back of the coffee machine.

"Hey, mind if I sit?"

Gail looks up. It's the girl, Holly, holding a tiny cup and standing next to the last available stool in the row next to Gail.

"Break," she explains.

"Yes, please," Gail rolls her eyes. "Save me from this display of grossness." She tips her head back to indicate what she is talking about, in case the glasses mean this girl happens to be completely blind and have missed the sight of Nina and Josh fawning behind her.

Holly just smiles and unties her apron, which is covered in coffee grounds, puts her cup down on the counter and climbs onto the stool. Then she folds her arms on the surface and leans right over, resting her face on her elbows, looking weary.

"Over it?" Gail asks her. It can't even be eleven yet.

Holly nods without lifting her head. "You know what the worse part about this job is?"

"What?"

"Having to make hung over, tired and needy people feel better when all you feel yourself is hung over, tired and needy."

Gail smiles. She knows this game well; the hospitality whine-fest. And she has plenty of ammo too, by now.

"Yeah, well in my job you watch people being all happy, getting drunk and having a weekend, when all you want to do is be happy, get drunk and have a weekend. That also sucks," she tells her.

"Yeah," Holly nods. "But at least they're happy customers. I see half of Toronto before they have had their first coffee some days. And let me tell you, this city is _moody_ in the mornings. No one should have to live through that repeatedly."

"Well you know, "Gail says, always happy to go for the one-up in these my-job-sucks conversations— she and her brother play it all the time. "Sometimes a person can get _too_ happy, you know? I've seen someone so happy with the combination of margaritas and a Friday that they vomited into their own shoes," Gail tells her, leaning forward. "Not _on_, Holly, _in_."

Holly pulls a face. "Oh. Okay. Gross." She takes a sip of her coffee and shrugs. "Well, this game of who's got it worse could go on forever, but maybe we should just agree our lives of servitude mutually suck."

"Or we could just agree that I won, because grumpy, coffee-deprived people have _nothing_ on vomit in shoes."

Holly just looks at her, grinning.

And Gail just shrugs, grinning right back. "Just saying."

Holly chuckles and nods slowly, conceding to Gail's win. She tips her head back, and drains the last of her coffee.

"And you know what?"

"What?"

"I don't want to get all up in your business, especially considering we just met," Gail tells her, pointing at her cup. "But maybe, Holly, if you are so exhausted, you should consider graduating to a big kids' coffee?"

Holly smiles and contemplates the teeny espresso cup, spinning it around on the counter. "Yeah, but if I had a bigger coffee, I wouldn't be able to drink as many in a shift. I'm not sure what a caffeine overdose would be like, but I bet it's not pretty."

"Probably not."

"So I'll stick to small doses and lots of them, thanks."

"Fair enough," Gail shrugs. She was just stirring, anyway, because this girl seems up for it. And Gail's always up for it.

She's just about to ask her what she does when she's not working here when a tall guy with some seriously stupid facial hair comes around the counter to stand next to her. Gail can't help staring at him. Seriously, where do some people get their idea about what looks good?

"Uh, Holly, I just wanted you to know that I adjusted the grind," he tells her in this kind of faux worldly, hipper than thou monotone. "So you might notice, you know, that it is pouring a touch slower, but I think you'll find you're getting more _crema_ on the pour."

"Okay, thanks, Dan." Holly smiles up at him. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"No problem, take your time." He disappears back behind the machine.

"Should I have any idea of what he was talking about?" Gail asks.

Holly shrugs. "He was just talking about the coffee."

"So, you like, actually make the stuff? That's like top of the café pecking order, right? What do they call you people again?"

"A barista— if you want to be a giant tosser," Holly says, rolling her eyes. "And some people really are when it comes to coffee."

'Well right now, it's the nectar of the gods to me," Gail tells her, clutching her cup.

"Yeah but _some_ people," Holly looks around as she says that as if she is afraid hipster boy might hear. "Like to act as though making a decent latte is the highest form of art. It's not." She rests her chin on her hand and frowns. "It's just basic science. It is just compensation between pressure, heat and liquid. That's all."

"Wow, Holly. Wow." Gail giggles, "That really was an awesomely nerdy way of asserting your coolness."

Holly just laughs, climbing off her stool and shrugging. "Well, I like to have both a heightened sense of superiority _and_ inferiority at any given time. Keeps me balanced." She sighs. "I had better get back to work." But as soon as she says it, she just leans back on the counter, like she is reluctant to leave her break just yet. "What are you up to today?" she asks.

"I," Gail sighs, "Am going to lunch at my aunt's, which basically means three hours, give or take, of watching her and my mother argue."

"What? The whole time?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Well, we might get anywhere between ten minutes and half an hour of peace at the start, but then it will be game on for sure."

"What do they fight about?"

"Anything. Everything." Gail shrugs. "Well, after much workshopping my brother and I have decided it is basically all part of one big meta-fight over who is the better daughter, sister, mother and human in general."

"Wow, that sounds…"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence before a voice interrupts.

"So, how many names has she called you?" It's Robbie again, stopping behind Holly and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

"None, actually, that I can remember." Holly tells him, frowning and reaching up and patting his cheek. "Oh no, I lied— she called me a nerd. But it was kind of justified," she says, smiling at Gail.

"Shush. Don't tell her she's right." Robbie says to Holly, winking at Gail. "I suspect it only feeds her." He strides away, ducking behind the counter.

"He's so very charming, isn't he?" Gail sighs, crossing her legs and leaning her elbow on the counter.

"Yeah, no wonder you get along so well." Holly grins, picking up Gail's empty coffee cup and saucer.

"Excuse me?" Gail cocks an eyebrow at her.

"As my father would say, you are cut from the same cloth."

"Really, would he?" Gail asks. "Then your Dad is nuts."

"Yeah, well he is, kind of," Holly says, agreeable. "But you two _are_ kind of alike."

"Shouldn't you be going back to work?" Gail tells her, pointed.

"Yes, yes, I should," Holly sighs, slaps her hand gently on the counter and smiles at her. "See you. Have fun at your aunt's," she says, a parting return shot.

"Oh now that's just mean." Gail groans, checking the time on her phone.

She sighs, Yes, it's time to return to the bosom of the Peck family.

* * *

**This continues to be an experiment. Review if you will. Or not.**


	3. Chapter 3

I

She doesn't recognise the small green car parked behind her mother's in the driveway.

In fact, all she really registers is the annoying fact that her mother is home.

She sighs, turning off the ignition and resting her head against the headrest, preparing herself for a Sunday morning dose of her mother. She is not in the mood. Not today.

Last night was another crappy night. At work it was so busy they had to scramble to get through the shift, even with Andrew's help. Then afterwards they went to a party, at a friend of Josh's place downtown. Gail didn't want to go, but Nina begged her, and, needing her couch for the night, Gail had caved. The party wasn't that bad- no worse than many she has gone to lately, but it wasn't great either.

It was after the party that it got worse. Drunk and exhausted, Nina had crawled straight into bed the minute they got back to the flat. But Josh didn't. In fact, he went from never saying a single word to her to being all friendly and insisting he was too awake to go to bed and that they should watch a film. Next thing Gail knew, he was opening up a beer from the fridge and settling down in the armchair in the corner, remote in hand. Gail didn't refuse, because she didn't exactly feel like she actually could, it not being her place, but she definitely did her best to let him know she was _not_ into the idea at all.

And instead of being the mute, grunting freak he usually is around her, he got all chatty and friendly, trying to make conversation. She's not sure if it was the booze that had unlocked his jaw, but it was incredibly annoying. First it was just generic chitchat, about school, about sport, about anything. And no matter how much Gail tried to freeze him out, utilising his particular, captivating method of communication— all the grunting and nodding— and returning it in spades, he just kept talking. He talked and talked and talked while she covetously eyed the blankets and pillows she usually used when she sleeps over, folded up behind him on the back of the armchair, taken hostage by this sudden, violent social assault.

And then, to make things worse, it turned, and he moved swiftly into disturbing over-share territory, suddenly starting to talk about Nina— about himself and Nina and their relationship, to be precise; telling her about how he is tired of being in a long-term relationship, how he and Nina probably weren't right for each other. And then he started throwing her meaningful looks between these confessions.

That's when it was confirmed to her that what Gail kind of thought might be happening was probably happening. This was definitely a thing. A thing Gail had to end right then and there.

Gail sighs, pulling the keys out of the ignition. The thing that gets her is that it is impossible to fathom that level of stupidity— that a guy could have a combination enough of mammoth ego and the lack of brainpower to _actually_ believe you'd be automatically be into him if he so generously deigned to give you the opportunity. And the fact he seemed to take it as fact that she would consider going behind a friend's back for the opportunity? It's as mind-boggling as Josh is repugnant. And the thing Gail can't figure out is how enough girls have been daft enough to give this guy the amount of ego strokes it's taken for his head to get this outsized.

Both grossed _and_ freaked out, she considered getting up immediately, and driving home, but she knew she had drunk way too much at the party to drive. And the millisecond it would take for the information that she'd been pulled over for drink driving by _any_ Toronto cop to get to her parents— and for them to make her life a living hell— made it an immediate non-option. So instead, she let loose the _bitchkrieg_ on him in the loudest, most threatening whisper she could muster without waking Nina, telling him he was a creep, that he was a terrible boyfriend for even saying things like that, and informing him that given his complete absence of brains and charm he should consider himself lucky he even landed someone like Nina, let alone managed to keep her. And then she graciously informed him that if he shut the hell up and went to bed right at that moment she'd consider not telling Nina what he has said.

And that was the last she saw of him.

Then this morning, waking on the couch to that grossly uncomfortable memory, she got up as quickly as possible and got the hell out of there before he'd surfaced- before Nina had even surfaced.

Because she does not want to see Nina either.

Because now she has to decide whether to tell Nina or not. Not tell her that he'd tried to come on to her— although Gail is ninety-nine percent sure that is where that was going— but the way he was talking about Nina, about their relationship. He is a giant asshole and Nina should probably know, but Gail just doesn't want to have to be the one to tell her. Because how do you tell your friend something like that and stay friends?

She sighs and pulls the keys from ignition. And why the hell can't Nina have figured this out for herself already?

Yawning, she pushes the car door open with her foot, climbs out and walks slowly up the driveway. She shoves the front door open and lets it shut behind her. No point being quiet at this time of morning. Her parents will both be well and truly up by now.

She tosses her bag on the couch traipses through the living room, headed straight for the kitchen and the coffee. Not even the presence of those voices in the kitchen— one of them definitely her mother's— is going to stand between her and caffeine right now. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for the onslaught and approaches the kitchen slowly, wondering who the second voice belongs to.

The minute she sees Gail in the doorway, Moira is out of seat like a shot, hurrying over to her and enfolding her in a tight hug.

"Hello," she croons, stepping back, her bright green eyes lit up by her wide smile. "How is my girl? You look well."

"So do you," Gail returns, smiling back down at her. If she'd known it was Moira's car, she would have gotten into the house faster.

And Moira does look good. She looks a little rounder, maybe, now that she isn't policing any more, but she hasn't aged like Gail has noticed her mother doing of late— gathering lines around her eyes and mouth— and her hair is still that rich red it has always been, shot through with only a little grey.

"And would you look at that hair," Moira grins, eyes wide, running a hand over Gail's ponytail. "It's fantastic."

"You should have seen it when she first had it done," Elaine tells her, bending over the coffee machine. "It was awful."

Gail just gives her mother a look. Elaine, of course, looks immaculate, even thought it's the weekend, dressed in her crisp jeans and light blue shirt, her hair tied in a pert ponytail. All she needs is a sweater thrown over her shoulders and she'd be playing perfect soccer mom.

Moira just ignores Elaine's comment, pressing a hand against Gail's cheek, smiling warmly at her. "Still as beautiful as ever," she tells her, before turning and climbing back onto her stool slowly. "Oh why didn't I have a daughter?" she sighs, shaking her head. "All those boys."

"I don't know, Moi," Elaine says, pulling a carton of milk from the refrigerator. "There was a few points where I'd have taken on all three of those boys over one fifteen-year-old girl."

Moira just smiles at her and turns back to Gail.

"And how is your brother?"

Gail opens her mouth to tell her about Steve coming back from a job, but Elaine pipes up again.

"He _was_ staying here, but we don't haven't seen him much. These kids treat this place like it's a hotel," she says, busily opening and closing cupboards.

Gail rolls her eyes at Moira, but she just smiles likes she didn't even hear it and pats the stool next to her.

"Sit with me a minute, Gail. Tell me what you've been up to."

"Nothing much at all, I'm afraid," Elaine says, pulling another cup from the cupboard.

"Oh pipe down, you," Moira says. "I'm talking to Gail."

Gail giggles and comes and sits down on the stool, leaning her arms on the counter.

"How are your studies?" Moira asks, taking the cup Elaine slides over to her, heaping in a spoonful of sugar from the bowl.

"Good," Gail tells her, shrugging, as her mother puts a coffee in front of her.

"And your mother says you are working in a bar?"

"Yep," Gail shrugs again, eyeing Elaine, thinking the less she says about it in front of her mother the better.

Just as Elaine sits down with her own coffee, her phone starts ringing. She frowns, immediately puts the cup down, snatches it up and walks out of the room, talking in that clipped, serious voice that tells Gail it's her work on the other end.

"Your mother told me about Brendan," Moira says.

Gail sighs. _Really?_ Why does her mother have to talk about her business to everyone?

"Little dickhead," Moira mutters, shaking her head and blowing on her coffee.

Gail can't help but crack up, burying her face in her hands. She's forgotten about Moira's mouth. She's always been 'colourful', as her father used to like to say, in the language department, while she's busily telling it like she sees it.

And that's why she has always been one of Gail's favourite people— she has both a sense of reality and comedy that her own mother completely lacks. And she has to admit; it still feels good to have someone call Brendan a dickhead.

"And let me guess, your Ma is hounding you about dropping to part-time at uni?" Moira asks her.

Gail nods, stirring her coffee and taking a sip.

"I just couldn't focus," she tells her, frowning. "Everything was such a mess."

"I know, hon," Moira pats her hand, sitting back against the seat, staring out the sliding glass door into the backyard, into the thready morning sunlight, which is streaming indoors. "Don't worry about your mother. Just keep doing what you're doing. You're doing just fine."

Gail nods, knowing she's thinking of her own boys, of Sam, probably, who's 'gone off the rails', as her mother calls it, in Manitoba. He lost it after Gary's accident and he's never got it back, apparently. The last time Gail saw him, a couple of years ago, he barely said a word, a complete stranger from the charming, ginger-haired bigmouth he'd been when they were kids.

"So, what are you doing in Toronto?" she asks Moira. "Are the boys here too?"

"No. I just came for a quick visit, to help with the new centre at the Greeve street apartments. I'm just here for the week."

"How are they?" Gail asks, thinking of those boys, who were practically like cousins when they were all younger and Gary was alive and was still her father's partner. Back then, they lived half a suburb away from the Pecks, and camped at the lake cottage together every summer. Until Gail was fourteen, they practically grew up together. She misses them. But she misses Moira especially. She always the perfect antidote to her own mother.

"They're fine," is all Moira says, sighing.

"So what are you and Mom doing today?" she asks, changing the subject.

"We're going to the gallery and then lunch. Want to come with us, get some culture?"

"You have no idea how little I want to do that." Gail tells her, resting her chin on her hands and grinning at her. All she wants to do is go back to bed and maybe watch a movie.

Moira just chuckles and nods.

"I am happy to see you, though." Gail tells her.

"So, what are you going to do with your summer?"

Gail shrugs. "I don't know, really. Work. Go up to the lake. Maybe I'll go away somewhere," she says quietly, not wanting her mother to hear. Elaine has no idea of her half-baked plan to travel yet, and Gail wants to keep it that way. "Or maybe stay around here, I really don't know," Gail shrugs.

"Well they need a ton of help at the new centre if you find yourself at the loose end."

Gail nods. "Okay." She traces the marbled pattern on the kitchen counter with her finger slowly. "You know, Mom wants me to go to the police college."

"Of course she does," Moira chuckles, climbing off her stool and taking her cup over to the sink. "The question is, do _you_?" she asks, rinsing her cup under the tap and stacking it in the dishwasher.

"I don't know," Gail shrugs.

"Well, it should be up to you," Mira warns, turning around and leaning on the counter on her arms. "It's a fantastic job, but have to want to it for yourself."

"I know," Gail folds her arms and leans back in her chair. "Do you miss it?"

Moira nods. "Yes I do. I'd still be doing it if I could." She nods again. "I would."

Gail frowns. Moira loved policing as much as her parents love it— even after everything that has happened to her because of it. Gail's not sure she could ever love something that much, that she could hold onto that kind of passion through all that Moira has gone through.

She's just about to ask Moira about her new job when Elaine marches back into the kitchen, picking up her abandoned coffee and tipping it in the sink.

"Shall we get going?" she says briskly.

"Yes, we'd better," Moira agrees, pushing her round figure away from the counter.

"And what are you going to do with your Sunday, young lady?" Elaine turns on her, pulling her sunglasses out of her case and putting them on her head. "I hope you won't be lying around all day."

"I'm … " Gail starts to retort.

"Oh leave her alone, Lai," Moira scoffs, grinning. "Stop nagging. She's nineteen. She's young. She can lie around on a Sunday if she wants to. All day. Let's go."

And Elaine doesn't say a word. She just hooks her bag onto her shoulder and gives Moira a look. Gail grins. Only Moira can shut her mother up.

Moira comes around the counter and folds her into another tight hug.

"Ignore your mother," she says, loud enough for Elaine to hear, kissing her on the cheek. "It's so wonderful to see you."

* * *

II

The hangover that set in upon waking this morning has made a swift mess of Gail's day. It doesn't help that she slept in so late that it has so far been a day carried out _sans_ caffeine. This is _never_ good. She still has zero idea how she managed to even make it to French class on time this morning.

Then, that is the beauty of spending nights sleeping on a sofa in your friend's living room, she guesses. Even if she were willing to skip class, it's hard to have a luxurious sleep-in on that lumpy, narrow couch. Even harder given how she felt when she woke up at dawn to that dry-mouthed, head-aching horror.

When she found out that Josh was away, visiting his brother, she'd agreed to hang out with Nina, safe in the knowledge there would be no awkward encounters at the end of the night. She still hasn't told Nina anything, and has decided she probably won't. Nina needs to figure it out for herself. Or maybe Gail just doesn't know how to bring it up. Either way, nothing has been said about it.

So last night she'd stupidly let Nina drag her to club night put on especially for people who work in bars and for whom going out on a Monday is like going out on a weekend, knowing she wouldn't be lumped with an more awkward social s. That is, if they aren't students like Gail with early classes. And most of them _were_ students last night, so she's fairly certain she is not the only one battling through this morning on campus. Not that it makes her feel any better to know she is not alone.

The first hour, at what feels particularly like an ungodly 9am, was spent in a lecture, fortunately, one that mostly consisted of watching a documentary on the youth movement in Quebec. Then the last part was spent listening to their crusty old lecturer talk about why it was important they watch it.

_Way to bury the lead_, she thought, keeping on eye open in case she missed something important.

But then she had a class straight after, and it's not so easy to hide in French class. She tried to keep a low profile, keeping her eye trained on her notebook, writing down everything, taking in nothing. But because Gail still hadn't got near the coffee, when she was asked a rapid-fire question in French she got confused and gave completely the wrong answer. Cue red face, people snickering and her teacher giving her that look like that is all he expected of her anyway.

It's all that can be expected of this teacher, too, though. Middle-aged, perennially bad-tempered, he has a real stick up his ass. His default setting seems to be unimpressed and you have to work pretty hard to change it. And Gail is too disappointed in him to bother. She has gone from being one of the stars of her high school French class, to adequate in first year to being barely tolerated in this second year class. To make it worse, her one friend in this class, a sleepy-sounding, quietly hilarious exchange student from Texas went home after his ski trip in the break, his semester-long visit done. And now she's on her own. And after most of a semester with this teacher, she can't even be bothered trying to impress him. It's lucky, really, because today's performance hasn't done anything to improve her standing. She'll just do what she did last year, study like hell and ace the tests and exams. Then it won't matter what she does in class.

As soon as she is released from the stuffy little room she makes a beeline for a coffee from the little student-run coffee cart in the courtyard. It attracts all the hipster arts idiots who love to cluster around it just to be seen there, but the coffee is worth it. And besides, Gail is in no condition to be picky right now. When did she think it was a good idea to go out on a Monday? This is one time she should have listened to her mother.

_Crap._ When she gets to the courtyard, instead of finding a pumping coffee business, all she finds is an empty courtyard and a locked-up cart. A sign, scrawled in black pen saying _Gone Fishing,_ dangles from the padlock. Smart asses. She sighs and turns in the other direction. Steeling herself for the longer walk, she cuts across the grassy quad, squinting into the sunlight that she'd usually be happy to see at this time of year.

At first, when she hears her name being called out she thinks she's imagined it; such is the state of her brain after much tequila, four hours sleep and two classes. Then she hears it again. Scanning the crowds of students scattered across the broad stretch of green grass, making the most of the spring sun, she spots Holly, a human island in a sea of text books, waving at her. She hasn't seen her for a while. Or Robbie. Not since they came in to the bar one night for a drink after work, but Gail had been too busy to talk to them much.

Gail grimaces at her in place of a grin and veers from her trajectory, cutting across the lawn to where she is sitting.

"Hi. I almost didn't recognise you …" Holly starts to say as Gail drops onto the ground next to her.

"I do not like today. Not at all" Gail groans, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater. "The coffee place is closed. And it's hot," she adds, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

"Hello to you, too." Holly grins. She holds out her bare arms, pen still in hand, turning her face up to the sun. "And what do you mean? It's beautiful."

She is sitting in just a tank top and jeans, her shoulders already beginning to brown. If Gail did that she'd be burnt in a minute. She shuffles back into the shade of a tree, yanking off her sweater and immediately feels better. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Holly waves her pen over the array of open books in front of her.

"Okay, smart ass." Gail grumbles, leaning back on her hands. She's just about to ask for specifics when a lanky guy in shorts with an almost-cool haircut strolls up with two coffees in his hand.

"Thought you'd be here," he says, grinning down at Holly and holding out one of the coffees a little too eagerly. "I owe you one."

_Smooth_, Gail thinks, but doesn't say.

"Thanks." Holly smiles up at him, clearly a little surprised. She carefully takes the coffee.

Gail watches the guy turn from confident to awkward in about two seconds flat, clearly not sure what to say now he's delivered the planned line and beverage.

"Uh, okay, well," he runs a hand through his mop of brown hair. "I'll see you at the lecture, later?"

"Yeah, see you." Holly tells him, giving him a smile and putting the coffee down in the grass next to her. "And thanks again."

"Cute." Gail watches him wave and quickly put distance between himself and his backfired manoeuvre, striding away across the grass. "The move, not the guy, of course. Though he's not bad, if you like them skinny." She turns back to Holly, grinning. "I think you were supposed to ask him to sit down, you know."

Holly just shrugs, taking the book from her lap and putting it on top of her bag. "Then he'd stay," she says, smiling.

"I'll give you every cent of money in my wallet for a sip of that coffee," Gail tells her, covetously eyeing the abandoned cup.

"You can have it." Holly picks it up and passes it to her. "I just had one."

"Seriously?" Gail raises her eyebrow. "You're giving away caffeine?"

"Seriously." Holly hands it to her, smiling.

Gail snatches it, takes a long, long sip, sighs, and then lies down on the grass, putting the cup down next to her, and throwing her arm over her face to shield it from the glare.

"You with Mr. Coffee?"

"Nope." Holly leans back on her hands, tipping her face toward the sun. "We hang out sometimes."

"Oh, sleeping with him." Gail grins, thinking Holly is being coy.

"Nope."

"What?" Gail frowns. "Then how did you get him to do that? Am I not seeing something here?"

"I don't know. I bought him one a few weeks ago when we were studying together," Holly screws up her face, shrugging again. "I guess he thought he'd pay me back."

"Just out of the blue like that? Wow." Gail shakes her head. "I mean you are hot and all, in that casual, no-frills way, but hot enough for unprompted beverage deliveries from a non-boyfriend? That's impressive pull."

"You want to give that coffee back?" Holly asks her.

"No."

"Then shut it."

Gail obediently shuts her mouth.

For a minute, anyway.

"He's totally hot for you, though. You know that, right?" she says, turning her head and grinning at Holly.

"I am well aware of his interest, thanks." Holly smiles, leans over and plucks at a strand of Gail's hair. "You know, I nearly didn't recognise you. I was looking at you thinking, 'how do I know that girl?' When did you become a blonde?"

Gail shrugs. "A week or two ago."

"And what prompted this radical make over, if I may ask?"

"Well, Holly," Gail sighs. "I was running out of ways to disappoint my mother. And then it came to me."

Holly laughs, dropping Gail's hair and leaning back again.

Actually, Gail had really just done it because Nina was dying her streaks one rainy afternoon at the apartment a few weeks ago and then asked if she could experiment with Gail's hair. And Gail was bored and hung over and pre-menstrually frustrated enough with the epic sameness that is her life to say yes on a whim. Annoying her mother had just turned out to be a pleasant, un-planned for side effect.

Elaine did not like the new look one bit. Or at least the calibre of the new look. It had been oh, about ten minutes maximum between her mother laying eyes on her newly bleached tresses and an appointment being made with her own hairdresser to fix the "appalling, cheap mess" she described over the phone. Two hours later Gail was at the salon, getting a new dye job out of her mother's pocket

Gail pulls a strand of it over her eyes and examines the new shade. She has to admit— although not to her mother— that it does look better since Elaine's hairdresser, Raf, stripped it and fixed it, making it a more even, less straw yellow blonde. Gail had, she will admit, been a little freaked out by Nina's patchy bleach job. But now she kind of likes the drama of the new colour. She's stopped getting a fright whenever she looks in the mirror now, not recognising herself, and it makes red lipstick look _amazing_.

"It actually looks kind of good," Holly tells her, tipping her head sideways.

"Uh, well thanks, Holly" Gail tells her, throwing a twig at her. "So, are you just hanging out on campus for fun, or do you have classes today?"

"Classes," Holly mutters, checking her watch and starting to stack up her books. "Soon, in fact."

"What are you studying, anyway?"

"Medicine. Well, kind of," she shrugs, pushing up her glasses. "I'm almost finished my pre-med course."

"Really? Wow." Gail raises her eyebrows and looks at all the books again. "How do you even have a life?"

"I honestly don't know. Actually, I don't have a life." Holly sighs, putting her glasses back in their case and shoving them in her bag. "I live at home with my parents so I can afford to exist on one or two shifts a week at the café. And I only go out on weekends."

"Sounds terrible."

"I love it, secretly. Well, except for the lack of social life." Holly smiles. "What about you? I didn't realise you were studying here."

"French language and literature." Gail tells her, sitting up because Holly looks like she is about to leave. "Just to keep my parents off my back while I figure out what I actually want to do. If I study, I can stay at home. And then I don't have to pay rent."

"Fair enough," Holly shrugs.

"So, are you going to be, like just a regular doctor, or a surgeon or something, like on _Grey's Anatomy_?"

"Neither," Holly shakes her head. "I think I want to do forensics, but I have years to go before I get to specialise."

"Forensics is like dead people, right? _CSI _stuff?" Gail frowns. "Why would anyone want to work with dead people?"

"Why is it everyone references TV shows when they ask about medical school?" Holly laughs, ignoring the second question and stacking up her books and sliding them into her huge bag. "But yeah, kind of like that, but not at all." she adds.

"So why are you studying medicine, then, to work with _dead_ bodies? Makes zero sense to me"

"Because dead people have the same body parts as live ones, dummy."

Gail just shrugs and smiles. Whatever. She's newly impressed by this information. She wouldn't have pictured someone like Holly picking that for a career. She's so … _sunny_. Doing something geeky like science, yes- that explains all the study. But forensics? That's kind of creepy/cool.

"And anyway, I can't do it until I've done medical school. Just like I can't study medicine until I finish a pre-med science degree. And then I do forensics after," Holly says, slightly impatient, like she has already explained this already a million times in her life.

"Wow," Gail says. "How long does that take?"

"Forever." Holly sighs. "I've been studying nearly four years, and I am not even halfway."

"Couldn't you have done something easier, Holly?" Gail says, picking up a dead leaf and crushing it between her fingers. "I've heard undertaking is a good, reliable career. And you still get to work with the corpses."

"That's actually exactly what my dad said, just last week," Holly grins, doing up the clasps of her bag.

"So they aren't doctors?" Gail asks, wondering if Holly is also following a family tradition, like she's expected to.

"Nope, they both teach mathematics."

"Oh," Gail wrinkles her nose. "Wow, that's quite a tradition of geek-dom. You're just one-upping them, then, I guess?"

"I suppose." Holly laughs. "I don't know. I love it."

"You'd have to," Gail frowns. "I cannot even imagine what you people do all day for all those years at uni. I mean, do you really just cut people up and look at their insides all day?" She grins, reassessing. "Actually, that'd be _kind_ of cool."

"Sometimes." Holly shrugs, standing up and brushing the grass off the back of her jeans. "No cutting today. It's a lecture, but it's a pretty awesome one. What are you doing now?"

"Uh, nothing?" Gail was planning on going back home and nursing her hangover for an hour or two before going to work. But it seems a long way to come and go. "Being a hung over, future-less Arts student?"

"Come with me?" Holly suggests, grinning, a challenge in her brown eyes.

Gail looks up at her, eyebrow raised. "To a lecture?" Gail asks, saying it like it's a dirty word. She's already suffered a lecture today- in a language she can understand.

"You'll like this one," Holly grins. "I promise."

Gail tips her head, eyes narrowed, amazed she is even considering it. "Is the lecture theatre comfy? Can I nap if I get bored?"

"Sure."

"Why not," Gail shrugs, surprising even herself by climbing to her feet. "Can I bring my coffee?"

"_Your_ coffee?" Hoy raises her eyebrows, before smiling. "You can bring anything." She drags her heavy bag on to a shoulder, wincing. "But hurry up," she starts walking across the lawn in a direction Gail has never been. Gail watches the straps of her bag dig into her shoulder and follows her across the grass

"See, Holly, there's another reason to study a slacker degree," she tells Holly, waving her one textbook gleefully in the air as she struggles to keep up with her. "Look at what I have to carry."

"Yeah, yeah."

Gail just grins and follows her.

When they walk into the bright, modern lecture theatre, a thousand times removed from the dusty, uncomfortable one Gail was stuck in this morning, she follows Holly to a seat in a middle-back row. Holly tosses her bag on the seat next to her, throws her legs over the back of chair in front, staking out her territory, and whips out a notepad. And she barely stops scribbling for the whole hour. Gail parks herself in the seat next to her and watches the other students trickle in, treating the whole thing as anthropological exercise. So this is where all those ambitious nerdy kids from her high school ended up, she realises, recognising the types, but not the faces. If she'd known some of them were secretly as fun as Holly, under the covers of all that geek-dom, maybe she would have made more of an effort back then.

The lecture is actually strangely entertaining. Gail's not sure if it is the hangover or just the random otherness of it all, but it doesn't seem to matter that she does not understand anything that is being said: the video of the gross bits, the lecture slides, and the unnaturally excited man delivering the whole thing make it all kind of interesting.

When the scalpel first cuts into flesh in the video, Gail grimaces at Holly, completely grossed out. Holly just grins right back at her and goes back to her note taking. Later, when they start slicing into whatever it is they have removed from the body, Gail grabs the pen out of Holly's hand and scrawls in the margin of her notebook:

_What the hell is that, anyway?_

Holly grabs the pen back.

_Kidney. _

Gail pulls a face and takes the pen again.

_That is freaking disgusting._

Holly just smiles and pushed her glasses back up her nose. Gail hands the pen back and sits back to watch the rest, enthralled.

When the hour is up, they walk out of the lecture theatre, blinking into the sunshine.

"I have no idea what that dude was talking about, but that was weird and gross and kind of awesome," Gail says, pulling her sunglasses out of her bag.

"Told you," Holly smiles, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and tying her hair up into a messy ponytail with the elastic from her wrist.

"Does my kidney look like that?"

"Yep, probably. Both of them." Then Holly tips her head to the side. "Maybe a little younger."

Gail wrinkles her nose. The less thought about that the better. "So, what do you do now?" She asks, sliding on her sunglasses. "Go cut one up yourself?"

"Nope," Holly shakes her head. "I go get free coffee from work, if the boss isn't there, and then go to another class in an hour. Come? For a coffee I mean, not another class. I don't think you'll go unnoticed in the labs." She smiles, squinting at her. "One of the geeks is likely to notice the bombshell blonde, even if we found you a white coat. Coffee?"

"Coffee yes," Gail nods, following Holly back out across the campus.

They go to her café and drink free lattes, Gail's hangover ebbing away with the second round of caffeine. Holly tells her about the first dissection she ever did, and Gail teaches her how to say 'That's the worse pick-up line I've ever heard' in French. Holly learns it quickly, but her accent is pretty awful.

"Just curious, if you don't really want to do anything with your French, what do you want to, you know, _do_, later?" Holly asks her.

"I really don't know," Gail sighs. "Everything I think of doing, I see the endgame, the career, and I go meh." She sighs again, louder, pushing her empty coffee cup away. "See Holly, I have lots of potential, but I lack direction, I lack ambition."

"Said all your teachers, right?" Holly grins.

"Oh, no, they didn't really notice. Said my mother."

"What does she want you to do?"

"To join the police force, like her. And my father. And my brother," Gail recites. "Oh yeah, and my uncle-in-law. _And_ my brother's godfather"

"Wow," Holly says. "That's some family line."

"I know," Gail rests her chin in her hands. "Hence why I kind of don't want to be a cop."

And Holly just nods like she gets it.

And when the hour is quickly done, they traipse out the café, pausing in the bright, sunlit street.

"That was fun." Holly tells her outside the cafe, once again hauling that elephantine bag on to her shoulder. "Hey, are you coming to Robbie's show?"

"Don't know," Gail shrugs, pulling on her sunglasses. She doesn't know anything about it. Besides, she doesn't even know if Robbie really likes her that much, let alone would want her to come to something he hasn't invited her to.

"It's with a few other students from his photography class. They are doing this group thing at a gallery near here. His stuff is amazing. Here." She digs in the side pocket of her bag and pulls out a flier, passing it to her. "You and Nina should come."

"Maybe," Gail says, taking the flier and reading it. "But it's on a Thursday, Holly. I thought you said you don't go out on weeknights?" she teases.

"It's for Robbie," Holly shrugs. "I make exceptions for Robbie." She sighs, smiling. "I make too many exceptions for Robbie."

Gail checks her watch. It's not that long until she has to get ready for work. "I better go. Uh, thanks for a strangely fun and educational afternoon," she adds.

"So you want to switch to medicine now?" Holly grins.

"Not a chance," Gail screws up her face. "I can barely commit to my two classes. If I had to go to a lab right now, I'd be pissed. See you."

She gives Holly a wave and strolls off down the street in the direction of Nina's apartment. Josh doesn't get back until the weekend. She can change there and go to work. Nina's not even at the bar tonight, but she won't mind if Gail shows up.

She hurries through the backed-up traffic and across the road and down a small side street. The sun is still shining and everyone is walking slower than usual, taking in the warmth and light after the slow, grey muddy drag that was early spring this year. It turned out to be a pretty good day, considering the start she had. Gail frowns. It's weird; she has just spent the afternoon with a virtual stranger and had more fun than she has had with any of her friends, aside from Nina, in ages.

Maybe it's time for some new friends.

That's it, she decides. She's going to make Nina come to that exhibition with her.

* * *

III

It's nearing the end of her shift and the bar has emptied out. Gail is cleaning the last of the glasses, counting the minutes until she can lock the door. Andrew has gone to hang out in his office, pretending to count money or something. Really, he's trying to avoid the work of closing up. Gail doesn't mind though. His extra helping hands would also mean listening to his boring stories. And she's heard all his stories a gazillion times already. She'd rather do all the work herself.

Then she hears the squeak of the door opening. She sighs, frowns and looks up, finding Robbie approaching the bar.

"Hello to you, too" Robbie grins, echoing Holly's exact words of earlier. Gail really needs to work on her greetings, it seems.

"Sorry," Gail mutters. "I thought it was more customers and I am about to close."

He ignores that and lets out a whistle. "Ooh, I like the hair!" He grins. "It's super hot."

"Thanks," she smiles, glancing quickly at the office door before reaching for the tequila bottle. She grabs a couple of glasses and quickly pours two shots, passing one to him.

"To blondes," she grins.

"We have more fun. Supposedly," he sighs. They clink glasses and drink them down. Hair of the dog, Gail tells herself as the hot burn of the tequila recalls last night.

She reaches into the tip jar, counts out enough to cover his and throws it in the register.

"Where's Neen?" he asks her, resting his arms on the bar.

"Sick," Gail says loudly, looking at the office door, and then whispers, "Working down the street at another bar."

Robbie nods. He pulls a clump of papers out of his pocket. "I just dropped in to give you guys an invite to my exhibition." He hands her a flier.

Gail pulls out the one Holly gave her earlier from her back pocket. "Snap," she tells him, smiling and holding it up.

"Where'd you get that?" he asks.

"Holly."

"Where'd you see her?"

"At uni."

"Oh," he says, yawning. "God I love that girl. So, will you come? Free drinks. Cheap, nasty champagne. But, like I said, it's free."

"Shouldn't your art be the selling point?" Gail asks, throwing their empty glasses into the last rack.

He shrugs. "Let's not kid ourselves, woman. They come for the alcohol, and then they look at the photos. Then they moan that they'd love to buy a photo but they can't afford it, because they can't even afford decent alcohol. Such is the story of my artistic life."

Gail just smiles sympathetically and picks up her polishing rag.

"So, will you come?" He asks.

"Sure," she says, shrugging, but secretly pleased he cares if she comes.

He slaps his hands on the bar. "Great. And you'll tell Nina, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Great, see you then, if not before." He runs a hand through his unruly blonde curls. "Besides, there's something you'll want to see."

And then he is gone.

* * *

**Thanks for all your reviews and your encouragement to continue this experiment.**


	4. Chapter 4

I

Gail misses the days when she used to feel invincible.

These days she craves those confident, cocky times; particularly in the last year of high school when freedom was coming, she was nearly always having a good time, and the social order was in place and all was right in her universe. Back then she didn't have to work so hard to feel like she could face off the world and win nearly every time. It just happened.

That feeling lasted pretty much through her first year of uni, too, a year that started out smelling of potential but ended up withered first into raw anger and hurt and then deadened into—somehow worse—something bloodless and divested of colour.

And now those invincible days don't come often like they used to. Some start out with the promise of that feeling but never quite last the distance. Some don't start at all.

She was getting it back, but sometimes all it takes is some small blow; another 'Gail's future' argument with her mother, or an awkward exchange with someone in class because she doesn't get them and they don't get her and neither of them know what she is doing here, or maybe another apologetic pleading message from Michelle reminding her of her the current state of her friendships, and suddenly any assurance she has rallied slowly dissipates and she's back there in that grey, depressing place.

Fuck Brendan. And fuck him for throwing himself like a grenade into a week that started out with the faintest whiff of promise. On Monday things had been looking good. Her mother was going away to a conference until the weekend, Toronto was forecasted to actually witness a few solid days of spring sunshine, and there was even the potential of some possibly-maybe new people in her life, and a plan for Thursday night that didn't involve going to work.

But that week was shot down on day one in the form of a missed call she discovered on Monday afternoon when she walked out of the lecture theatre. Just seeing his name threw her into a stunned tailspin, nearly walking straight into an information desk as she stumbled out the door, staring distrustfully at the now-idle phone in her hand. Embarrassed, she quickly shoved it in her pocket, unable to fathom a single reason why he might be trying to get into contact with her, and headed home.

He didn't leave a message. But it didn't matter. The damage was done. Because just when she'd got to the point where he and his new relationship weren't a constant painful presence in her mind, but finally scaled down to a faded, unwelcome spectre that hung around, but didn't always try and make itself known, he has once again managed to insert himself in her world again. Just by being a name on a screen in the form of a missed phone call she will never return.

So, instead of enjoying what might have been a halcyon week— for her, at least— she mulled and stewed and re-covered some of the old bitter ground of that sad, sorry break up again. And so began a shitty week of lying around the house, trying to ignore the pervasive question of why he has decided to make contact her after months of silence, without actually wanting to know the answer. And, of course, it meant the epic return of all the debilitating self-doubt that comes with the territory of him and his betrayal. And it's not just the betrayal that depresses her, now it's also the relentless, merry-go-round tedium of these feelings she really, _really_ doesn't want to be feeling any more.

She was not prepared for this week, this small backslide to that place.

_Be tough, don't let on_. That was her mother's advice for this break up back when it first happened. In fact, that was her mother's advice for everything, finely whittled down into a piece of cure-all guidance that could be tossed out on her brief appearances in the land of motherhood during Gail's late high school years, when she was eternally buried in the paperwork and social ass-kissing required for her eternally sought-out promotions at work, and was hardly ever around.

And sure, that was great advice for when she was out in public, and it was advice Gail learned to take on— had to take on in order to be able to leave the house in those first weeks and maintain face among her friends. But it did nothing to help with the long hours spent alone in the privacy of her room in the aftermath, to ease her through the hurt, humiliation and anger. Her mother never told her how to deal with that part. No one did. And no one told her how long it would take to getting back even a fraction of that assurance she used to have. And now, just when she was finally feeling the capacity to, he happened again.

But it's Thursday now, and Gail has decided he is not going any further into this week with her. Especially not today. Today, she is not going to let it be one of those days, because this, _this _might be a day with the makings of being able to feel just a little bit good about herself. She has a new jacket, she has new hair and she has somewhere to be tonight. And she has some new people to spend it with, people who don't know anything about that sad, sorry pathetic version of Gail or about even the Gail she used to be. And she can do this safe in the knowledge that they are not her old friends with whom she can't forget these feelings because she can always detect the traces of their kind but irritating sympathy over the fact that she, Gail Peck, who used to feel untouchable in her social world, got dumped— even if she was the one who did the breaking up.

So, tonight she's going to do whatever she can to find a slither of that old confidence to take with her tonight into a new world. And right now, she's finding it in the form of eye make up.

She had no real idea what to wear to this show, but going on Robbie's comments about cheap booze and cheaper attendees, she has decided to go casual, in jeans, a top and her new jacket. And eyeliner. There must always be eyeliner, her second favourite form of armour.

"Hey Blondie."

It's Steve, already making himself comfortable on her bed.

"Where have _you_ been?" she asks, leaning in to the mirror carefully applying the pencil to her lower eye.

"At work," he shrugs.

"For a week? You can't be sleeping there," she frowns, putting down the pencil and picking up her mascara. "Elana?"

"Sort of," he grunts.

"Lucky her."

"I'm just trying to make it up to her." He picks up her wallet from the bed and starts idly picking through it.

She holds out the mascara wand and turns, frowning. "Get out of my stuff."

"No." He grins. "I'm checking for fake ID."

"Hey idiot boy," she replies, wiping away a teeny smear of black from her eyelid. "I'm nineteen now, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he chuckles, continuing his rifling, pulling out and looking at every single receipt, card and coin. "I forgot."

She leaves him to his kneejerk detective work and gets back to the task of long lashes. She has nothing to hide, anyway, except an embarrassing student ID photo. And he's already seen it.

"So, what are you doing tonight that requires all that war paint?"

She frowns into the mirror. She's not wearing _that_ much make up. She hasn't even put on lipstick yet.

"Going to an exhibition opening."

"I don't even know what that is," he says, holding up a card and reading it, brow furrowed.

"It's a party where they lure you into look at the art and maybe buy it on the promise of free alcohol, I think."

"Ah, now I get it. At first I was thinking you … and art?" he nods, grinning. "But you and booze? That I understand."

He stuffs the card back into her wallet and tosses it onto the bed. Then within seconds he has picked up one of her school notebooks and started looking through it. She shakes her head. Steve just can't help himself.

She grabs her brush and starts running it through her hair.

"Brendan called me," she tells him.

Steve looks up, frowning. "What for? What did he want?"

"I don't know. I missed the call," she says, putting her brush down and turning around. "And I'm not calling him back."

"Good. Don't, Gail," he mutters, flicking over the page.

"Don't worry, I don't plan to," she snaps.

Who does Steve think she is? One of those desperate women who'd jump at the chance to return to a guy who was too gutless to even tell her he had fallen for someone else? That kind of feeble crap is more Steve's bag, actually. He's the one crawling up to Elana again even though she's kicked him out on his ass at least half a dozen times since they started dating. Sure, she's super model hot, but seriously? Steve is way more pathetic about this stuff than she will ever be. Steve has zero willpower, especially when it comes to that psychotic girlfriend/whatever of his. Guys can be so spineless sometimes.

"You know, that offer to kill him is still open," he tells her.

Gail smiles. She's got to hand it to her brother. He is incredibly annoying but he's as loyal as all get-out.

"Thanks. You're very sweet," she grins. "I think ignoring the asshole will be sufficient for now." She gets up and pulls on her jacket. "But I'll let you know if I need you to get out the tire iron, okay?"

"So, who are you going to this thing with?" he asks. "Michelle and her sidekicks don't seem like the art-loving types. Unless it's prints from IKEA."

"Nope. I'm going with Nina and some other people. A friend of hers is in the show."

"You're hanging out with artists?" Steve pulls a face and runs a hand through his hair. He's finally had a haircut, thank God, and looks normal again. Well, normal for Steve.

"So what?" she sighs, getting up and looking at herself in the full-length mirror behind her door. She'll do, she supposes. "Maybe I don't want the extent of my social life to be skeezy cop bars and hockey matches like you, or trashy nightclubs like Michelle and Kerry."

"Yes you do,'" he says, picking up her phone.

"Okay, sometimes," she shrugs, whipping the phone out of his hands and putting it in her back pocket. "But not all the time."

"You're full of it," he scoffs, leaning back on his hands, his blue eyes squinting, delivering his best, cynical 'I know you' look, because calling each other out on their crap is one of their favourite things to do. "Let me guess, this artist some hot guy you are chasing?"

"Nope," she grins, then tips her head to the side, considering Robbie. "Well, he actually is a little hot, but also gay." She turns toward him. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Going to The Penny for a drink."

"See," she says, rolling her eyes and zipping up her jacket. "Boring."

"Well," he sighs, rubbing his face and yawning. "That UC job was plenty new and exciting for me. I'm kind of happy to go with predictable for a while, you know?"

Gail nods. She has to pay him that. "Fair enough," she shrugs, straightening her collar in the mirror and turning to him. "Okay, how do I look?"

He just looks at her, raises his hands and frowns. "How would I know? You look like Gail. Only blonde."

"Shut up," she says, picking up her wallet and shoving it in her jacket pocket. "Now get out, I have to go."

* * *

II

The gallery is off Weston, and it is a mob scene. She sees the people spilling out onto the pavement as soon as she turns into the street.

Thrusting her hands in her jacket pockets, she approaches slowly, feeling suddenly timid. Nina is _supposed _to be there somewhere, but that doesn't mean she will be. Nina is always late. And Gail is always painfully on time. She can't help it. It has been drilled in to her. She wishes she were better at that casual, party's-already-started arrival, because there's always the fear you'll be standing around on your own, no one to talk to, waiting for someone you know, like now.

As she gets closer and a closer look at the mass of people already gathered, a mixed bag of students, art types, and a few proud but beleaguered parents scattered around, clutching plastic glasses and talking loudly, she knows she made the right choice about what to wear. Everyone, except the parents, has firmly embraced the dressing _down_ for this particular occasion.

She stops at the fringes of the crowd, wondering how she is even going to get inside the place. She edges closer to the wide glass doors and stands on her tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse inside the small gallery. It is too packed. All she can see is bodies. Wondering how anyone even manages to see the art at these things, she step back to the outside of the pavement, out of the way of the steady stream of people weaving their way in and out the door.

She is still standing there contemplating an attempt to elbow her way in there, to try and find someone she knows, or at least get hold of a drink to alleviate the social anxiety that is starting to take a firm hold, when she feels a hand clutching her arm. She spins around. It's Nina.

"Hi." Nina grins.

"Hey," Gail says, relieved.

She's dyed her hair again; a deep red, and cut her fringe in short bangs over her forehead, making her eyes seem bigger. It makes her look younger, too.

Nina is always changing her look. She is a constant human work in progress. _I like change_, she has told Gail repeatedly. Raised in a huge, vaguely hippy family, Nina seems to have learned to go with any kind of flow without worrying much. It's a source of envy sometimes for Gail, who'd like to be that free and easy with everything, but knows she will never find anywhere near that level of chill. It's also kind of annoying, sometimes, because it can be hard to pin Nina down to any kind of plan, sometimes. She can be can be kind of flaky, and you can never count on her being where she says she's going to be at any given time.

"I like your hair this week," she tells her.

"Thanks," Nina runs her hand over her forehead, smiling self-consciously, "I still like yours too. It's awesome."

"Better since I got it fixed," Gail tells her, narrowing her eyes.

"Josh has gone in to find drinks," Nina tells her, ignoring her dig about the botched bleach job.

Gail nods, chewing her lip. She forgot Josh might be here. Awkward.

"Have you been inside?" she asks.

Nina shakes her head. "Too hard to get in," she says, shoving her hand in her pockets and contemplating the teeming crowds. "I'm going to wait a bit and then try. Let's find somewhere to sit."

They end up parking themselves on the curb, feet in the gutter. A lot of people are doing the same thing, lining the edges of the traffic-free street with drinks in their hands.

"Classy," Gail grumbles, pulling her knees toward her as they sit. Nina just smiles, not bothered in the least by their position, or by Gail's complaints.

Josh finds them eventually, clutching a bottle of the free bubbly and a small pile of plastic cups. He pours them a glass each, hands one to Gail with barely an acknowledgement of her presence, and parks himself on the other side of Nina. At least he seems to have returned to his old, silent grunty ways, Gail thinks. Hopefully it will stay that way.

Gail sits back and sips her— as promised— disgusting champagne, and watches all the people around her, dressed in their concerted efforts to looks as casual as possible, efforts that probably took as long to orchestrate as anything fancier would have. As long as it took her.

She is staring idly down the street, fading out on Josh's boring talk about some sporty obstacle course race thingy he is doing on the weekend, when she spots a guy who looks kind of familiar. She can't work out how she knows him at first, running a list of potential ways she might know him through her head. She's trying to figure out if he's in one of her classes at school, or maybe a customer at the bar when they get close enough for her to see who it is he is walking with. It's Holly, dressed in jeans and a shirt, her hair loose, walking along next to him. That's when Gail realises who it is, the guy from the university lawn that day. Coffee boy.

Holly is clearly mid-story as they walk, talking animatedly, hands waving wildly. And he is listening avidly, smiling. Gail smiles to herself, wondering if he has gotten anywhere yet.

As they get closer Holly spots them and waves, veering over to where they are sitting.

"Hi!" she says, smiling down at her. "You guys came."

"Hey," Gail smiles up at her. "You know Nina, right? And that's Josh." She flaps a hand in his direction. He nods at them and holds up the bottle and glasses.

"Nice to meet you." Holly nods at the proffered bottle. "Sure, thanks."

"It's disgusting," Gail warns her.

"I'll risk it." She grabs the guy by the arm. "This is Pete." She introduces him to everyone. He smiles, says hello and then says something to Holly and wanders away to talk to some people on the other side of the street.

"Coffee Boy, eh?" Gail says to her, teasing.

Holly grins and is about to say something when Robbie appears. Gail rests her chin on her hand and watches as he folds Holly into a tight hug with one arm, holding his drink aloft in his other hand. "You're here!"

He looks great tonight, with his hair high, in his skinny black jeans and boots and a bright blue t-shirt, the sleeves cut off as usual. Gail wonders if he just cuts the sleeves off everything the minute he buys it. She also wonders what he wears in winter.

"Of course I am," Holly tells him, pressing a hand on his cheek, smiling. "I just got here, though, so I haven't been in."

"Don't bother yet," he tells her, still clutching her arm, as if for protection. "It's packed and you can't see anything anyway." He moves forward and steps on the tip of Gail's boot with his own.

"Hey," he says, grinning at her.

She pulls a face at him and then smiles.

"Yeah, we're waiting until we can actually get in the door. You're popular," Nina tells him, shading her eyes and looking up at him. "How is it going?"

"I'm freaking out a bit, actually." Robbie pulls a face, leaning against Holly. "Some of our teachers turned up, even though it's not a school show. I was _not _expecting that. None of us were."

"Do they like your stuff?" Holly asks. Then she shakes her head, correcting herself. "Well, of course they did, but did they _say_ anything?"

Robbie shrugs, giving her a coy look. "I don't know. I might have hidden from them."

Holly sighs. "You're an idiot," she tells him, smiling. "Shouldn't you be trying to promote yourself?"

He just shrugs and smiles, weirdly bashful. And Holly just shakes her head again, thumping him on the arm and then sliding her arm around his narrow waist and holding him against her.

"What about you?" he asks. "Get that anatomy thing done?"

She just nods and kinds of waves it away, like she's done thinking about it.

Gail watches them, struck by how they are so obviously worn into their intimacy, how much they seem like brother and sister. Well, maybe they don't fight enough to be siblings, but even Gail will admit that their devotion to each other, even though they are so different, is kind of cute.

"I better go back in," he tells them. "The owner said that someone might, _might_ be interested in buying one of my pieces."

"Really?" Holly turns to him immediately, eyes wide. "That's amazing. Get back in there, then." she pushes him away.

"_Okay_," he says, pulling a face. "I hate doing this stuff."

"You want to live off your work?" Holly asks him, stern, pointing at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes," he sighs, like this is a conversation they've had many times before.

"Then go back in there," she tells him.

"Yes'm," he grumbles, but leans in and kisses her on the forehead. "I'll come find you guys when it is quieter in there, okay?" He points at Gail. "I want to show you something." Then he turns and strides away.

Gail frowns. It's the same thing he said to her last time he saw her.

She looks up at Holly.

"What does he want me to see?" she asks.

Holly shrugs and smiles. "He'll show you," is all she says.

"Want to sit?" Gail shuffles up closer to Nina. "It's very comfortable, as you can probably imagine."

"Sure," Holly says, dropping down next to her, putting her drink down on the pavement.

"So how did you guys meet, anyway?" Gail asks, leaning back on her hands.

"Robbie and I?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning on her knees.

Gail nods.

"At work. Last summer. We both started working there around the same time and, being the new kids, they put us on the early morning open shift together." Holly shakes her head, smiling. "Nothing will make or break a friendship like a couple of months of 6am starts together."

Gail nods. She sips her drink and cringes. It is truly disgusting champagne.

"So, Coffee Boy's here," she says, teasing.

But Holly just nods and smiles. "Coffee Boy's here," she agrees, looking over at where he is standing, still, on the other side of the street, talking to two guys who are leaning against a closed storefront.

"I thought nothing was going on with him?"

"That's not what I said." Holly tells her, turning the plastic cup between her hands. "I just said I hung out with him sometimes."

"Oh yeah, that's right." Gail smirks. "And that you weren't sleeping with him. And yet he still brings you hot beverages. Did it pay off?"

"Nosey, aren't you?" Holly says, giving her a look. She doesn't seem too upset, though.

"Yeah," Gail agrees. "Habit. It's all the police in the family." She shrugs. "Okay, I get it. We don't talk about it."

Holly shrugs. "It's not that big of a deal. It's just ... just, unconfirmed what it is, you know?"

Gail nods. She gets it. Besides, it is none of her business, and Holly clearly keeps these things close to her chest. She's just gotten used to Nina, who will talk about _anything_. In the few short months they have known each other, Gail has learned Nina's entire family, romantic _and_ sexual history. Gail has always been kind of private about her business herself, but Nina makes her seem like the most closed person in the world.

She changes the subject. "So, is it exciting being out on a Thursday, Holly?" she turns and grins at her. "Feeling dangerous?"

"Oh yeah," Holly grins, taking a sip of her drink and pulling a face.

"Told you," Gail says. "Besides, should you even be drinking on a week night? Surely that's not in the rules"

"Well, exams are coming and I am determined to enjoy everything while I can, because things are going to be hellish pretty soon."

"Oh yeah," Gail hasn't given that much thought to them yet. But they are not that far away. "How many exams do you have?"

"Five or six."

"Ouch." Gail shakes her head. "I only have two."

"Lucky." Holly wraps her arms around her legs and leaning her head sideways on her knees. "Do you worry about how you'll do? Your grades?" she asks Gail.

At first Gail goes to play it cool, act as if she doesn't care, but she somehow thinks Holly isn't the kind of person to judge her in the least if she tells the truth.

"Yeah, I do," she admits, shrugging. "I was raised by perfectionists. I can't help it. You?"

"Yeah, I stress. I have to," Holly frowns. "Getting into medical school is ridiculously competitive."

"But you seems so chilled," Gail tells her. She does. Holly seems so relaxed and cheerful- and in a surprisingly un-annoying way. It seems like it would take a lot to ruffle her.

"You're lucky you met me after I took the MCAT. That was kind of stressful."

"That's that medical school exam, right?"

"Yep," Holly nods.

"Oh God, are you talking about the MCAT?" It's Pete, Coffee Boy. He sits down on the kerb next to Holly and grins. "Don't talk to her about the MCAT."

"Why?" Gail asks.

"Hush, you," Holly tells him at the same time.

"Holly nearly lost her mind when she was studying for it." He says, bumping his shoulder against hers.

Holly elbows him back, grinning. "I wasn't _that _bad."

Gail smiles because she detects the high-pitched note of defence in her voice. So Pete's probably right.

"You kind of did," he returns. He turns to Gail shaking his head. "You should have seen her. She was a mess."

Before Holly can start in on the retort she is about to throw back at him, he adds: "And, of course it turned out you didn't need to stress at all, did you?"

Holly doesn't answer. She just shrugs again, and turns to Gail.

"Well, I thought I had a good reason to worry," she explains. "Did you know under 10% of entrants to the exam in Canada get into med school off their results?"

"No Holly, I did not," Gail tells her, smiling. Why in hell would she know that?

Well, I read it on Wikipedia, so it might be true," Holly grumbles.

"I, on the other hand, did know that, because she told me about six hundred times." Pete tells her

Holly just gives him another look. Gail grins.

The sit there in the gutter, helping Josh and Nina drink a second, awful bottle champagne Josh finds for them and trade stories. Gail tells them one her brother told her a few weeks ago, about how he and his partner were called in to arrest a woman last year for not returning a football the neighbour's kid had kicked into her yard a thousand times. When she finally, annoyed, refused to give it back, they'd had to come in and arrest her.

"They can do that?" Holly asks, eyes wide.

"Apparently it constitutes petty theft," Gail shrugs.

"That's nuts." Pete scoffs, laughing.

"The law is a weird, weird thing. My Dad said he arrested someone years ago for the same thing," Gail tells him, grinning. "But it was a lawn chair."

"Your father's a cop, too?" Pete asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Yep," Gail tells him, watching him pulls the same face people always pull. She's so used to people's reactions to this information. It's up there with being a priest's daughter for weirdness, apparently. "And my mother," she adds.

"_Both_ your parents and your brother are police?" He shakes his head. "That's got to be a buzzkill."

"I don't know," Gail shrugs.

She never quite knows what to say when people say things like that. It's the only reality and they are the only parents she knows. Besides, as she likes to tell people, she has better knowledge of how to evade the law than most people do. That can and _has_ had its advantages now and then.

Before he can ask any more of the usual barrage of questions that inevitably follow this revelation, Robbie appears again.

"Hey guys, the gallery has cleared a bit if you want to come and look?" he says, almost sounding like he is not sure hewants them to.

"Yes, please" Nina says, jumping to her feet.

"Oh, how sad to leave our prime positions," Gail mutters.

Holly chuckles and stands up, holding out her hands to Gail.

"Oh come on," she tells her, hauling her to her feet, grinning at her. "You're sitting in a gutter, but admit it, you're having fun."

But Gail just smiles, not dignifying that with a response. Holly already knows she's right. And she _is_ having some kind of fun. More than she's had all week, that's for sure.

Robbie leads them in to the gallery. The crowd has thinned now and Gail can actually see some of the photographs on the walls, the front room hung with large moody landscape shots of what looks like a fog-bound airfield. Boring.

"So, where's your stuff?" Nina asks.

"In that room," Robbie points to a doorway. "And that one." he points to another. The others head for the first room. Gail goes to follow them, but Robbie catches her wrist and pulls her back.

"Hey, come in here for a sec."

He pulls her along behind him, taking her into the second room. When they get inside, he turns the corner, lets go of her wrist, takes her by the shoulder and positions her a short distance from a large photo occupying a narrow section of wall on its own.

It is a photo of her.

He rests his hands on her shoulder as she takes it in. It's a black and white shot of her working at the bar. Well, not working exactly. She's standing at a distance from the camera, at the other end of the bar, in profile. Her arms are folded over her chest and she is staring intently at something beyond the frame, the neon of the sign above the door backlighting everything but her face almost to a silhouette, creating a hazy halo of light around her upper body. Her hair is still dark in the photo, and longer, pulled up in a knot at the back of her head, loose strands hanging around her neck.

"I don't even remember you taking that," she tells him, still staring at it, incredulous, unable to quite comprehend the fact that there is a picture of her hanging in a gallery somewhere, even though she is standing right in front of it.

"I sneaked it that night I was taking photos of Nina's arm. It was a lucky shot. I only took the one, but I love it. You don't mind, do you?" He squeezes her shoulders.

Gail doesn't say anything for a minute. She just keeps staring at it. And she doesn't mind. Not at all. Even she can see the subtle beauty and mood of the photo beyond the confronting presence of it being of her in it. There is an atmosphere in it that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the moment he has captured, something both pensive and transitory in the way she is standing, so far away from the camera, surrounded, but not touched by the bar, her mind so clearly elsewhere. The way her chin is slightly dropped, and her arms folded makes it ever so slightly defiant, too. Anywhere but here, it says. She feels a welling of something somewhere between pride and maybe gratitude for this reminder of herself, of her potential to be someone who could be looked at.

Gail shakes her head. "No, I don't mind. It's a great photo. You know that," she tells him quietly, still staring.

"Good," he says. "Because look." He points at the small red sticker stuck next to the photo. "I sold it."

"Really?" Gail shakes herself out of the shock of the photo and turns and smiles at him. "That's awesome."

"Thanks," he tells her, biting his lip and smiling like he too doesn't mind admitting he is amazed by this fact. In this moment he is more genuine and serious than she has ever seen him. She realises, this is actually something he can't be flip about. His art.

"I sold another one, too."

"That's really great," she says again, feeling a flash of envy that he has this thing that he knows he wants to do, is compelled to do. And something that he is good at. Why can't she figure out that thing for herself?

The others trickle in and, suddenly wrought shy by the thought of them staring at a picture of her, Gail ducks out to the first room to look at the rest of his stuff.

And all of his photos are great, of course. Like he told her, they are all portraits, but they all manage to be somehow _more_ than the people he is taking them of. Now, after seeing these, Gail understands, even knowing nothing about photography, that Robbie is talented.

She wanders around the other rooms, less interested in all the other people's work, but looking anyway, biding her time before she goes back into the other room. When she does they are all standing around in the middle of the room with a bunch of other people, presumably Robbie's friends.

As she re-joins them, Holly turns to her and smiles, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Do you like it?" she asks, tipping her head in the direction of the photo.

Gail shrugs, still feeling shy. "It's kind of weird, you know?"

"Yeah, I can imagine." Holly says, turning to look at the picture and then back to her. "But it's really, really beautiful."

"You already knew, didn't you?" Gail asks, blushing, remembering how Holly brushed off her questions earlier. "You could have warned me."

"Yeah, I saw the smaller prints, when he was choosing which photos to use in this show," Holly admits.

"To Robbie!" Someone calls out. Slowly, everyone catches on and raises their glasses.

"To Robbie!" the room responds. Gail drains the last of her glass of warm— and even worse, now— champagne.

"And to actually selling some art," someone yells. A few people laugh.

"There's going to be a picture of you in some stranger's house," Nina says, coming to stand next to her, sipping her drink. "That's _so_ weird."

Gail freezes for a moment, contemplating that new, incredibly freaky thought. "Thanks, Nina," Gail grumbles. "I hadn't actually thought of that." She wrinkles her nose. "And now I have."

And it _is _weird. But before she can mull it over any further Robbie comes over, pouring a little more champagne into their cups.

"Hey, a few of us are going to go to dinner and celebrate— just dumplings or something cheap. Will you guys come?"

"Of course," Nina says.

Gail nods, secretly pleased to somehow, suddenly be considered part of this weird little group. These people who are nothing like the kind of people she is used to hanging out with. But she also knows that maybe, just maybe, that this is a good thing.

Eventually, they all get thrown out of the gallery as it closes. They make their way down the streets in a tight throng, headed for a Chinese restaurant someone suggests.

Robbie falls into step with her. "Thanks for coming tonight," he tells her, smiling lightly and hooking his elbow through hers.

"Thanks for inviting me," she says quietly, staring idly at the motley little group walking in front of her, some girl in a hat pretending the curb is a tightrope, arms out, Nina slapping Josh on his arm and laughing, Pete lifting his arm and rest his hand on the back of Holly's neck as they walk. She smiles.

"Well I guess it'd be kind of rude not to invite the talent," Robbie says, turning and giving her one of those looks he always seems to be giving her, like he finds her highly amusing.

"Oh shut up," she tells him, tugging at his arm as they walk slowly together along the darkened street.

* * *

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far and said you are enjoying this little AU 'experiment'. I'll try and keep it coming.**

**(Oh, and no, before anyone else asks, Holly did not buy the photo)**


	5. Chapter 5

I

She is picking her way through the bodies scattered around the university lawn, looking for a spot to while away the next hour before her meeting when she sees them.

Sitting in a patch of sun strung out between the spring-fattened shadows of two black oak trees are Holly and Pete, a stack of books and a couple of coffee cups between them. Even from this distance, she can see how animatedly they are talking and laughing. She considers stopping by to say hello but, feeling slightly awkward, she thinks probably she should just leave them be. They probably don't want a third wheel butting on their little sunshine coffee date, she thinks, even for a minute.

So instead she walks a little further away by herself, finding a sun-dappled patch of grass on the fringes of another capacious oak and sits down on the grass. She slips her book out of her bag, slides on her sunglasses and lies down, using her bag for a pillow. She flicks open her book and tries to read, but it's hard to concentrate with all cheerful banter around her and the lulling warmth of the sun. It is mere minutes before the book has dropped down to her chest and she's vagueing out to the mellow breeze and the scent of freshly mown grass and thinking about the possibilities posed of the summer, not far away now.

She is still thinking about taking a trip over the break, but she just can't decide exactly whether to and where to. Every travel agency she passes, she finds herself stopping and looking at the prices of fares, musing over the delicious possibilities contained in the lists of flights seemingly taking off to every corner of the world. If she does decide to go she knows it will probably be Europe. Those trips with her parents when she was young, fraught with familial tension and brief were not the most pleasant experiences of her childhood, but they did leave her with memories of some beautiful, beguiling places she wants to see again.

She'd love to wander through some of those cities they visited so long ago again, only at her own pace and without the constant behest of a guidebook or, worse, a guide who was inevitably harried, being constantly interrogated by her mother, who seemed to think the only way to seem intelligent was to ask copious questions designed more to show off her own knowledge than ask anything of the guide.

But even with the painful addition of dysfunctional family dynamics, those short trips were fleeting tastes of places Gail has an acquaintanceship with but wants to know more intimately, places that exist and that _happen_ outside the increasingly small world of _here_. And those places are exciting and different not just for their newness of, but for the potential they offer for her to be another Gail, an anonymous Gail even _she_ doesn't even know yet.

The one thing that is holding her back, though, and the thing she'll not admit to anyone, is that even though there would be a certain freedom to being whoever she wanted to be, she is not sure how she'd fare alone. And, given the sorry state of her social life, she'd most definitely be travelling alone. It's not that she doesn't think she'd be able to brave it by herself, it's just that she would probably feel less freedom go wherever she wanted if she were on her own. And besides, her mother and father are more likely to kick up a fuss about her going in the first place if she travels alone, and she might need a bit of financial help if she doesn't step up the savings a bit.

She is still knee-deep in contemplating the lure of being someplace else when she feels something nudging at her boots, drawing her back to the university lawn and to the pressing question of who is trying to wreck her peaceful moment of sunshine daydreaming. Frowning, she looks up, shading her eyes, ready to growl, but it's Holly, standing over her, grinning.

"Didn't you see me waving?" Holly asks, hooking her fingers onto the straps of her bag and swinging slightly from side to side.

"What? No. I only see someone ruining my serenity." Gail mutters, playing innocent, sitting up on her elbows and blinking into the sunshine. "When?"

"Just before."

"No." And at least that part is true. She saw them sitting there, but she really did not see Holly waving.

"Oh, well, that's okay then. I won't be offended, then." Holly grins. "You weren't ignoring me. So," she squints down at her. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Holly?" Gail raises an eyebrow, shooting her a look and waving her book in the air, saying exactly what Holly did to her the one time she asked that same question on this lawn.

Holly just tips her head to the side and delivers a knowing grin.

"You were _not _reading," she shoots back. "You were napping."

"Maybe," Gail shrugs, sitting up, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. "So what?"

"So, tell me, what are you doing now you've caught up on your beauty sleep?"

"Meeting my group to prepare our oral presentation for French." Gail rolls her eyes, checking her wristwatch. "Soon. I am not looking forward to it. I got put in a group with some _very_ uptight folk," she tells her. "Very high maintenance and stressy."

"At least that type get good grades," Holly suggests, pulling a face that tells Gail that even she knows that this won't make the experience any more tolerable. "There's _that_."

'I guess," Gail shrugs.

"Then what are you doing after?"

"Going to work," Gail mutters, sitting up and holding onto her knees. "Because my day isn't wonderful enough already."

"Oh," Holly frowns. "I was going to visit Robbie before my next class. It's his afternoon to babysit the exhibition. I was going to see if you wanted to come."

"Want to. Can't," Gail tells her. "What about tomorrow? Are you around?" she adds hurriedly, not wanting to lose an opportunity to meet up with them again. After the exhibition last week, she wasn't sure if she'd see these guys again, except by chance. It's not like she has their numbers or anything, or any more dates set up to hang out. And she likes Holly. She's fun, and better yet, she's funny. "I've got a lunch thing, then a class, but I'm free after that?"

"Well Robbie won't be at the gallery, but we could hang out? I have a break between three and four?"

Gail nods. "I can meet you at three."

"Great," Holly smiles. "Meet you here?"

"Here," Gail agrees.

"Awesome, I'll see you then."

"See you,"

Gail watches Holly pace away across the lawn, her hands jammed in the back pockets of her jeans, smiling, enlivened by the fact she might actually be making a new friend. Of course Holly seems so easygoing and indiscriminately sociable it's kind of hard to tell if her geniality is just by default or if she really is making friends. Either way, Gail is relieved to know that someone seems to actually, genuinely want her company. Their random hangout last week was surprisingly fun, so she is looking forward to tomorrow. And, as added bonus, it'll be a nice antidote to her lunch tomorrow.

For some stupid, not quite explicable— even to herself— reason, Gail has agreed to meet Michelle for lunch and talk.

Clearly sick of Gail avoiding her calls, Michelle had shown her face at the bar last night, a jarring and discomfiting visit that told Gail that she was not going to get away with this … _thing_ that wasn't quite a fight with her old friend without at least a conversation about it.

Gail had been busy serving customers, but she'd spotted Michelle within a second of her arrival, that's how much she stood out among the Wednesday night crowd, in her jeans and preppy blouse and blazer combo, hair freshly washed and out. She was way too neat and tidy and … well … washed, for that place on a Wednesday.

"Hey," Michele had squeaked, timidly resting her fingers on the edge of the bar and smiling nervously at Gail as she came over. "Cool place," she said looking around.

"No it's not."

But when Michelle's face kind of fell, she instantly felt bad. There was no reason to torture her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to soften the question with a not-quite smile.

"I came to see you," Michelle shrugged, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear. "You weren't answering my calls or messages."

Gail just shrugged and pressed her lips together, partly because she didn't know what to say, but also because she knew it _was_ pretty bad form. Over the past month or so Michelle has not given up. And having listened to those messages, she is fully aware that Michelle, who is ridiculously kind-hearted— the very reason she probably said nothing to Gail about hanging out with the new girlfriend in the first place— is incredibly sorry about what had happened. And as much as it upset Gail, she knows Michelle doesn't deserve to be made feel this bad. It had just got to a point where Gail had left it so long that she had no idea how to deal with it. So, like with all things she doesn't know how to deal with, she simply didn't.

"Do you think we could, you know, meet and talk?" Michelle asked, hopeful, biting her lip, still clutching the edge of the bar.

And Gail wanted to say no, largely because she has no idea how to deal with the incredible awkwardness of this now she has made it all so big by ignoring it, but she suddenly found herself saying yes— if not for any other reason than to end this awkward exchange and to get Michelle out of the bar. But also, she will admit, because she couldn't handle the expression on Michelle's face if she said no. So she relented and nodded and saw the instant relief flash across Michelle's eyes as they made a plan.

And now, faced with the inevitable discomfort this encounter is going to bring, she kind of wishes she had said no. But she didn't. She said yes.

* * *

II

At three o'clock, she finds Holly exactly where she said she'd be, under the tree on the western side of the lawn. She is sprawled on her stomach, arms draped over her bag, clutching a small paperback in front of her face.

Gail sits down on the grass next to her.

"What? No homework. No textbooks, Holly?" She inquires, grinning. "Might that be _actual_ leisure reading?"

Holly looks up and smiles, pulling off her glasses and laying them on her bag. "I _should_ be studying," she says. "But sometimes you just have to rest your brain, you know?"

She reaches over, pushing the book toward Holly's face so she can get a look at the cover. She pulls a face.

"I rest my brain with trashy TV, not," Gail lets the book go, grimacing. "Early twentieth century literature."

Holly raises an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"Because I am a genius, Holly," Gail sighs, opening up her water bottle and taking a nonchalant sip.

"It does seem that way," Holly agrees, folding down the corner of her page into a dog-ear and closing the book.

Gail shrugs. "Oh yeah, and we might have studied it last year. Pretty depressing for the first …" She hangs air quotes around first. " … feminist novel. Lady marries dude. Lady falls in love with another dude. Lady feels too guilty to be with other dude. Lady kills herself. _Totally_ depressing."

Holly sighs and tosses the book on to the grass in front of her, "Way to ruin it, Gail. Now I guess I don't need to read it."

Gail slaps a hand to her mouth, giggling. "Oops, sorry"

Holly just smiles and shakes her head.

"You know," Gail tells her, apologetic, "It's only short, you would have found that out in, like, thirty pages. Besides, you deserve to be spoiled. You dog-ear the pages. That's like book vandalism."

"Yeah, yeah," Holly grumbles, but she is smiling so Gail is ninety-nine percent certain she is not actually mad her wrecking the ending. "So, how was your day? Ruin anyone else's yet?"

"Probably. And if not, I've still got time," Gail quips, lying on her back, sighing. "It was okay. I had lunch with a friend, which was weird."

"_Lunch _is weird?" Holly cocks an eyebrow at her, rolling over onto her side on the grass, and resting her head on her hand. "What do you usually do when you hang out with your friends?"

"Oh, that's not what I meant," Gail sighs, flicking a blade of grass at her.

Holly just smiles, and brushes it off her arm. Gail turns over onto her stomach, leaning on her elbows, staring across the lawn. She chews her lip, wondering if she and Michelle will see much of each other from now on.

It feels like it has been like a dual attack of the recent past. First Brendan ringing, and then Michelle dropping by the bar, practically pleading with Gail to meet up with her. At least Brendan hasn't rung again.

Lunch was as awkward as she thought it would be, of course. But at least by the end they'd come to some sort of peace. But the worse part was trying to fill in the silence after they sort-of, kind-of talked it out. Making conversation in the aftermath was in some ways more painful than the discussion about what had passed between them to bring them to this impasse, and yet another heartfelt apology from Michelle.

Now, even with the potential of things being okay between them again, Gail's not sure of she can maintain this friendship. And she's pretty sure Michelle feels the same. It was too exhausting— and has been exhausting for ages, having to work so hard to seek out common ground all the time. She gets the feeling Michelle won't be calling much now either. But at least they will be on reasonable terms if and when they do meet; even if they are both super aware they have nothing in common any more. She could not wait to leave that horribly clunky, silence-punctuated meal. Walking away felt like being granted freedom after a jail sentence.

"So, are you going to tell me why was your lunch weird?" Holly asks. "Or should I just sit here and watch you pout?"

Gail rests her chin in her hand, thinking about Michelle, and about Kerry and Kate, who she heard all about during lunch in the desperation to fill silences

"Girls are _weird_, you know, Holly. In fact, girls are _stupid_," she says, knowing full well she's being ridiculous. But the elation from being free of that painful little encounter has made her feel positively giddy.

"Well, I'm a girl, in case you hadn't noticed," Holly retorts. "So on behalf of the rest of us, I'd like to say thank you _so_ very much."

Gail smiles and shakes her head. "Oh, you're nothing like these girls," she tells her. "In a good way," she hurriedly adds. Although Holly, as affable as she is, would probably have an easier time getting along with those girls than Gail does any more. But she's pretty sure she wouldn't be friends with that kind of girl, either.

"So, do you want to be more specific about why girls are weird, Gail? Or are we just going to be working in sweeping generalisations today?"

Gail smiles. She debates brushing it off, changing the subject, but when she looks over and sees Holly looking back at her, receptive and seemingly ready to listen, before she know it, she starts telling her about the lunch, and, of course, _why_ the lunch happened.

And of course the story of her and Michelle very much becomes the story of Gail and Brendan. How could it not? And the next thing she knows, she's telling the whole damn stupid sorry little tale while Holly lies there on the grass, chin in hand, listening and not saying a word until she's done.

"How did you know?" Holly asks, when Gail is finally finished with the telling.

Gail shrugs. It feels incredibly weird to be talking about this. She hasn't really confided in anyone about it at all in any real way— a little with Steve, maybe, when it first happened, but then he left for his job and she was on her own. And even before she knew Michelle was hanging out with the new girlfriend, she couldn't really bring herself to discuss it with the person she saw, at the time, as her closest friend. It was too close, and thus, too raw. Besides, she couldn't risk letting Michelle know just how bad she felt, lest she tell Cal, who'd tell Brendan. Gail's dignity, her pride, wouldn't let her.

"I don't know how I knew, exactly," Gail admits. "I could just feel like that connection between us wasn't as strong. At first I just thought it was the not being able to see each other that was making it like that. I had to stay in Toronto more and more for stuff; he had things on the weekends, too. But then when I did go up and see him, I could feel it, like … like an absence, you know? I don't know," she shrugs again. "I could just tell his attention was elsewhere, if you know what I mean? "

Holly nods. "So what did you do?"

"Well," Gail smiles wearily, "After about a month or two of quietly freaking out, wondering if maybe he'd met someone, but being too gutless to ask, I thought I could, I don't know, just go and spend some real time him, and remind him why we were so good. So I drove up there one weekend to stay the whole weekend. I changed my shifts, got out of a family dinner, and ignored a French test. But when I got there it was like he barely registered my presence." she shrugs, biting her lip. "It was too late."

"What do you mean? He cheated?"

"No." Gail shakes her head. "He never cheated. He really wasn't that kind of guy." she chews on her lip, gently plucking at a single blade of grass, trying to ease it up out of the ground without breaking. "But that didn't matter. He didn't cheat, but he was already completely into this girl. He just hadn't had the balls to tell me. Until finally, before I left, I just asked outright."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Gail mumbles, rolling over onto her back so Holly can't see her face because she can feel the vague choke of impending tears in her throat, and crying would be completely humiliating right now. "That's right, oh," she whispers.

She blinks hard. This is why she doesn't talk about it. Because the hurt and— worse— the shame comes back. And in this case, the possible double humiliation of crying about it in front of a potential new friend who does not need to know how pathetic she actually feels about all this.

And Holly doesn't say anything. Nothing at all. She just rolls over onto her back, too, lying next to Gail, her hands tucked under her head. Gail is just starting to feel more embarrassed about what has probably been a pouring forth of _way_ too much information when Holly nudges her foot softly with her own, a small but reassuring gesture of sympathy.

"The worst part is," Gail tells her, feeling safe to go on now. "I was almost angrier at Michelle now, than I am at him. I am over it. Well," she shrugs, "Maybe I'm not completely, but I am over being angry and upset about him any more. I _can't_. It's over and I don't have the energy. But _her_, I thought she was my friend."

"What did she say to you about it today?"

"She just said that she's really, really sorry and that she didn't mean it to happen, but circumstances made it hard to avoid her blah blah." She shrugs, swallowing hard. "I don't now. It's like, I _get it_, and I do. It would have been awkward for her. But I'd never, ever do that—not without telling her first at least." She frowns and stares up into the branches of the tree, shifting in the breeze. "And now I don't know if I can really be friends with her any more, not like before, anyway."

Holly suddenly sits up, tucking her hair behind her ears and staring out across the grass. "That's so unfair, having that happen with your best friend _and_ your boyfriend like that."

"Yeah," Gail sighs. "But you now, I don't even know if Michelle and I were that close, or it was just because of Brendan and her boyfriend, Cal, being best friends. But still, I don't know, I expected more loyalty from her, you know?"

And again, Holly is silent. For a minute Gail wonders if she's gone on too long, over-shared, gotten too personal. Holly's probably bored of hearing all this. It is only the third time they've hung out properly, and she probably doesn't want to— or need— to hear all her problems.

She's trying to think of a way to change the subject when Holly suddenly leans forward, resting her arms on her own knees and frowning.

"You know," she says slowly. "I think every friendship has its limits. And sometimes every friendship runs its natural course, too. I don't know," she shrugs. "I'm not friends with half the people I was close with in high school any more. We just don't have anything left in common, or we don't have enough time for each other. I don't know, you just can't hold on to everyone." she shrugs. "Maybe it's just a part of moving on with life."

Gail nods, contemplating what Holly is saying, grateful for some perspective— and for an insight that explains that difficult— painful, even— little lunch and it's probable, sad outcome. This girl is smart.

"I mean the people who count, the ones who I really care about, they're still around. That's how you know they're the keepers, right?" Holly says, tipping her head sideway, thoughtful.

Gail nods again, even though she doesn't really know. The way she's going, if she and Michelle never mend things properly, she won't have any friends left from high school.

Besides, Gail knows she hasn't had a friend like that, a 'keeper', as Holly puts it, since Beth, and that feels like it was years ago now.

They'd met at the start of grade ten, when Gail's parents had suddenly decided to send her to a different, posh high school, one where none of her friends were going. She'd floundered that first week, missing her old friends until she met Beth, who had just moved to Toronto, in science class. Gail instantly liked this person she'd been paired with, the first girl she ever felt that close to that they could actually talk beyond the surface of things. On that surface Beth was this nice, mature, model student who was quietly respected by the teachers and others, and who seemed respectful in return. She was the kind of person put in charge of things, who was instantly trusted to do things without supervision. And while she _was_ like that, when you got her in private she was different, and had had this cutting, funny and awesomely cynical take on the world. Gail loved it, and she loved being privy to that side of this girl. Beth was how she learned to survive high school.

But then halfway through grade eleven Beth's father, a businessman made them move again, to the States and Gail was suddenly, abruptly cut adrift into the social world of high school in tenth grade, when friendships were long-formed, and set groups established. And, having exercised friendship monogamy, preferring the company of Beth, or of Steve and his friends, her friend's sudden absence left her socially bereft until she met Brendan and thus, Michelle and co that following summer. She knows she and Beth would probably still be friends if she were still here, but she's gone and although they email, that connection is reduced to one of nostalgia, no longer tangible or intimate in the way it was back then.

Holly straightens her legs, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a sandwich, slowly unwrapping it. She picks up half and holds the other half out to Gail.

And even though Gail isn't even that hungry, she takes it, grateful for the gesture. She sits up on the grass, inspects its insides, and takes a bite.

"What about you and Robbie?" she asks, chewing. "He's a keeper, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Holly says, smiling and chewing slowly. She swallows and says, "But even we have our limits."

"Like what?" Gail asks, curious, taking another bite. She'd thought he and Holly seem to be in something like friend love, the kind that never fights.

"I love Robbie," Holly shrugs. "But it's hard with him sometimes because he just disappears."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he just …I don't know, sometimes there have been times when maybe I have needed him and he's just not around, you know? I used to get hurt, but now I'm getting used to it. And I've learned not to depend on him to always be there." She stares at her sandwich, contemplative. "And you know," she goes on. "I don't think that he doesn't want to be there, or that he wouldn't if I asked. _Or_ that he doesn't care. He's just flighty. He'll be everywhere for a while, and then he'll just kind of … be gone."

"Where does he go?"

Holly sighs, breaking off a crust of her bread and tossing it to a small bird that has been edging closer to them since the first appearance of food. "New guy, new art project, new friends. Any or all of the above. Also sometime I think he just goes into hiding. Like he's so social that he puts himself out there so much that sometimes he just has to retreat so he can focus, or rest or something."

"Oh," Gail says, watching the bird dart forward and pull the crust backward across the grass with its beak, unable to pick it up. It begins covetously pecking at the bread, moving quickly, as if wary of another bird discovering its treasure before it can finish. "That would be hard," she says.

"Yeah, well I don't mean to make him sound like a bad friend. He's awesome and beautiful. I just had to learn to not always depend on him being there exactly when I need him to be. I mean, when he's there, he's _there_, you know. But sometimes, he's just," she shrugs. "Gone."

Frowning, Gail draws her knees to her chest and hugs them, tossing the last crust of her sandwich to the handful of birds that, on spotting the promise of Holly's generosity, have started to gather hopefully on the grass near them.

"Is he your best friend?"

Holly smiles. "He's definitely become one of them. My friend Maya is my oldest and closest friend. She is in Vancouver, though, studying."

"How long have you known each other?"

"Since forever. She and her brother grew up a street away from me. I miss her. We talk all the time, and she's here some holidays, but it's not the same."

Gail nods, trying not to feel envious. She's not sure what she's more envious of, though; Holly having not one, but two really close friends, or of Holly's close friends. She misses feeling that important to someone, aside from her brother, who's about the only person she can think of who seems to want or need her around enough that he'd actually miss her if she wasn't there. Maybe Michelle would have, Gail thinks, in the past, but probably not now. Now, she doesn't know what Michelle thinks of her.

Like she can read her mind, Holly reaches over and plucks at her sweater sleeve. "Anyway, maybe it's not so bad then, that you have some space from Michelle?" she suggests. "Not that I am saying you should just cut her out, or that it's not worth it- only you know whether you should do that, but maybe you just need some time, some space."

"Maybe," Gail shrugs, resting her chin on her knee. "I just feel like my whole social world just kind of came apart, you know? One day I knew exactly how the world went, and who my people were, and the next day," she confesses. "Not a single freaking clue."

Holly nods slowly, then smiles. "Well you have Nina," she says, putting down the rest of sandwich. "And you have us."

And before Gail, both embarrassed _and_ warmed by this sudden, confident declaration of friendship has to say anything in response Holly checks her watch and sits up.

"Damn, I've got to go," she sighs. "Class in ten."

Gail reaches out and grabs her wrist and looks at the time.

"Me too," she nods. "I have to meet my brother."

They slowly scramble to their feet, Holly groaning as she hauls her heavy bag with her. When it is on her back, she thrusts her hands in her pockets and turns and looks at Gail. Gail smiles at her, feeling weird and shy and slightly embarrassed from all this sharing she's been doing. She's not used to talking like this with someone, but Holly makes it easy.

And Holly just returns the smile. But hers, of course, is open and easy, a gift of a smile, one that tells her Holly might be someone who Gail doesn't have to worry about what she thinks of her.

They stroll slowly across the campus together, clearly mutually reluctant to leave the peace and warmth of the university lawn for the thrum and impatience of the real world.

"You know," Gail tells her. "On paper, you don't sound like you actually _are_."

"What?" Holly asks, scrunching her face. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Gail grins, "If you said to me, sporty, science geek, wears glasses, into old books, I wouldn't imagine _you_."

"I'm not sporty," is all Holly says.

"Well, you _look_ sporty."

Holly just shakes her head and smiles. "Well, on paper you know you make no sense, either. Bleached blonde daughter of police family, majoring in languages and literature?" she gives Gail a dubious look. "All kinds of conflicting information there. So don't _you_ judge."

"Yeah, I guess," Gail mutters. "But I always judge, Holly. That's what I do." She turns and gives her a taunting grin.

"So, what you really meant," Holly grabs onto the straps of her bag and smiles. "Is that I sound like a giant geek on paper and so you, who are probably used to hanging out with all the shiny party kids are surprised you like hanging out with me?" Holly turns and gives her an _I know you_ grin.

"Maybe," Gail shrugs, grinning. This girl is good. And sharp as a tack, too.

"You know," Holly sighs. "I don't really care what I sound like on paper. If being a geek is doing what I am doing, then I don't care," she shrugs. "I'm pretty happy with who I am, most of the time."

Gail fleetingly wonders when it is that Holly _isn't _happy with who she is. Gail could say she's happy with herself about half the time on a good day. She can't imagine Holly feeling less than satisfied with who she is, though. How could someone so smart and funny and friendly and, well, _liked_ be unhappy?

"Yeah well," Gail sighs. "I'm telling you now, I don't know if I can hang out with someone so well-adjusted."

"Well it doesn't matter, you have no say in it. We're _going_ to be friends," Holly tells her, grinning. "Even if I didn't want to— and I do," she hurriedly reassures her. "It wouldn't matter, because Robbie _loves_ you."

What?" Gail nearly stops in her tracks at that revelation. She pulls a face. "He doesn't act like it."

"That's just how he is with you. If he didn't like you, trust me, he'd just ignore you." Holly tells her. "Besides, do you think you're particularly friendly? Remember that night at the bar when we met?"

"I thought you weren't paying any attention," Gail says, blushing a little against her will. She _was_ pretty feisty that night, even for her.

"No, I was just leaving it to you two to it to fight it out. I knew you would either destroy each other or become friends. And either way, it would be entertaining for me." She grins.

Gail shrugs, not quite knowing what to say to this particular bit of astuteness. "What_ever_, Holly."

Holly just grins. "Like I said, you two are cut from the same cloth. Two thoroughly charming jackasses."

Gail just blinks. She was not expecting Holly to pass judgement so swiftly and so damningly on them both.

"Jackasses, huh?" She shakes her head, chuckling. Who calls people_ jackasses?_

"So, what are you doing with you brother today?" Holly asks, clearly tiring of that subject.

"I'm actually meeting him at Robbie's gallery. I told him about the photo and now he wants to see it." Gail shakes her head, pulling a face. "I don't know why. He knows what I look like,"

"Oh you know why," Holly smiles, ignoring her attempt at self-deprecation. "What's your brother like?"

Gail shrugs. "He's … I don't know. He likes beer, and sports and shooting stuff— real stuff because he's a cop. He's good at figuring out problems and making people laugh and he makes terrible decisions about people with pretty faces and boobs. I guess he's a regular guy."

Holly laughs, pulling her bag higher on her shoulder.

"And people with pretty faces and boobs seem to like him even though he's a ginger and makes terrible decisions and is kind of a spaz." Gail finishes.

"Wow," Holly grins, stopping at the end of the long path leading out of campus. "I feel like I know him already."

Gail just smiles and pulls out her phone, looking for his last message to see how far away he said he was. Before she can check, though, Holly has taken her phone out of her hand and is tapping away.

"What are you doing?" Gail demands.

"Messaging me," she frowns, pushing her glasses up her nose and finishing what she is doing. Then she passes it back to Gail, smiling. "Now you have my number and I have yours. Call me or something if you want to meet up."

She checks her watch.

"See you soon," she says, as if it is the most natural, inevitable thing in the world that they'll be hanging out again sometime soon.

With that she turns around and hurries away, the set of her shoulders telling Gail her mind has already turned to the next thing in her day's list.

Gail watches her make her purposeful way down the shaded path, and feels a simultaneous burst of both admiration and envy for Holly's effortless vitality and her social ease, something she simple _has_, but Gail always feels she is trying so desperately to muster.

Maybe, if she spends enough time around it, she can learn something from it.

**Thanks for reading and for your reviews so far. Do let me know if you're still enjoying the experiment.**


	6. Chapter 6

I

Gail has only slept with four guys in her life.

Four.

One was Brendan, of course, repeatedly.

One was the guy she lost her virginity to back in grade ten when she decided she was drunk enough that it was the time for it to go, and then the subsequent couple of drunken do-overs that never really got any better with him.

And the other two were similarly drunken one-off incidents in the aftermath of Brendan, in that second month when she was trying desperately to move on, in the only way she knew how— by ignoring the pain in the getting drunk and the dancing and the random hooking up, all so she might, just might, find a possibility of forgetting. It didn't work, though, the awkward one-night stands setting off another little maelstrom of regret that took a while to recover from.

Four guys.

That hardly makes her a slut. In fact, it barely makes her interesting.

So how in hell is she left here feeling like a complete skank? How come she didn't do anything wrong and she gets to feel like this?

Gail stalks down the street, her hands jammed in her pockets, her collar up around her ears. It's a miserable day— the first for a while, and the biting wind seems to be coming straight off the lake from somewhere far colder than it has been in Toronto lately. Well, at least the shitty weather complements her mood perfectly.

And Gail is in the foulest mood she has been in a long time, which is going to make this meet-up with her mother more unbearable than usual.

She frowns into the wind and crosses the street, dodging the stalled traffic on the busy street.

Going back to Nina's after Josh's birthday party had been a stupid, stupid idea. She knows that now. In fact, going with Nina to Josh's birthday party at a club after work was a bad idea. But Nina, as usual, begged her to come, and hamstrung from being able to offer a reasonable reason not to— like the fact that she'd rather stay at home and watch crappy television than go celebrate the birth of a giant sleazebag and hang out with his idiot friends — because she didn't want to offend Nina, she couldn't really refuse.

But why didn't she think of it earlier? That Josh would think because it was his birthday, he could do whatever the hell he liked?

They get back to the apartment and Nina, as usual, crawls straight into bed, completely wasted because that's her eternal post-party MO, while Gail is left with a drunken Josh. And one minute she is at the kitchen sink, kicking off her shoes and downing a giant glass of water in the hope of forestalling the pain of an imminent, monstrous hangover, and the next he is drunkenly trying to paw her while Nina was sleeping in the next room.

Of course, it turned out Nina wasn't sleeping. No, she was not. In fact, it turned out she was wide awake and on her way to the bathroom or something when she came past the kitchen and saw it. Next thing you know, she is in a screaming rage at both of them, but mostly at Gail.

Suddenly that feistiness Nina can wield at the bar at irritating sleazy customers— the feistiness that Gail had long-admired was all of a sudden directed at her point blank. And it was horrible. Nina was so livid, so drunken, borderline hysterical that Gail— still pretty freaking drunk herself, not to mention completely shocked and revolted by Josh's attempts— barely tried to defend herself. Instead, in a state of inebriated shock, she got the hell out of there, grabbing her shoes and bag and heading for the street and a taxi that would take her expensively back to the suburbs and away from being the source of that rage. Josh of course, had just stood drunkenly in the corner, muttering '"I'm so sorry, babe," over and over again, acting like a fucking toddler. But Nina wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to him. It was Gail she was focussed on. Gail spent the taxi ride home in a stunned stupor, fiercely swiping away tears and just trying to get her breath back, trying not to freak out.

But the next morning it wasn't tears that dominated, it was anger. How dare Nina automatically assume it was _her _that instigated it? That Gail would betray her, and betray her with that stupid pig, in the next room, while she was sleeping?

How do these things happen to her?

It's not the first time. Gail seems to attract this shit, for some reason. Back in grade ten, in the period not long after Beth moved away, and she was tentatively instigating a friendship with this girl, Rhiannon, who she'd always been a little friendly with, a similar thing happened. They had been hanging out a bit, going out together with a few of Rhiannon's friends until one night, she went to a party with them and spent maybe half an hour talking to this one vaguely normal, non-douche guy, and all of a sudden Rhiannon had let loose on her— in public, too— accusing her of trying to steal this guy she had set her sights on. Gail had been completely baffled and hurt. She hadn't even known Rhiannon was into him in any way (and she suspected later that he didn't either), or that she was be stepping on any toes by having a normal fucking human conversation at a party. How wrong she was.

It was something she would never knowingly do— had she actually had a freaking clue about Rhiannon's designs on this guy. The first rule of the family Peck: loyalty in everything.

Anyway, next thing she knew, they were no longer on speaking terms and there were rumours swirling around the school that Gail had done something shitty to another girl and it was hard to come back socially from that kind of betrayal in girl world. That was the point where, hurt and betrayed herself, she decided it was better to be a loner for a while than try and negotiate these unsteady friendship terrains at school, and to instead spend her social time with the guys she was seeing and his friends, or even Steve and his friends. Guys didn't have these weird unspoken rules and undercurrents and weirdness. Everything just was what it was. By the time she met Michelle, who actually seemed to want to be her friend despite all the gossip the year before, the hurt had faded a little and she remembered why she liked hanging out with other girls.

Now she is in this kind of mess again, only worse. How the hell does it keep happening? Gail pauses to let a woman with a bunch of shopping bags cut in front of her on the wet pavement and frowns. But what is it about her that makes people think she would do these kinds of things, that she's some kind of man-eater who'll betray her friends for a guy? She never has, and she never, _ever_, will.

She does not get it at all.

* * *

II

"And this, sweetheart, is why I like working in a world of men," Elaine tells her, pulling a sweater out from the rack and examining it. "Men are simple. Men are straightforward. It's easy. _They're_ easy."

Gail frowns. It is weird to hear her own thoughts of earlier come out of her mother's mouth. She trails her mother through the store, where they are ostensibly looking for something for her cousin's birthday, but really seem to be looking for things for Elaine.

"Women, on the other hand," Elaine shakes her head. "Most women are difficult. They are defensive, and they will betray you in a second if they think you are going to threaten their territory."

"Glad to see none of those feminist movements you lived through left a mark on you, mother," Gail drawls, pulling a face.

"You don't need feminism, sweetheart, you don't need solidarity, or any of that nonsense. You just need to look after yourself," Elaine tells her, moving to the next rack. "Look honey, if you say didn't do anything with this idiot of a boy, I believe you— I'd certainly hope I raised you with better taste, at least," she says lightly. "But honey, there's no point getting all weepy about the fact that this girl claims you tried to steal her boyfriend. Just move on. Who needs that in their life? Just move on and find a nicer friend to spend you time with."

Gail sighs a voluptuous sigh. And this, this is why she hardly ever tells her mother anything, and probably wouldn't have if the wound hadn't been so fresh from last night that it was written all over her face when they met outside the store. Just one look at her and Elaine started firing questions at her, questions that Gail didn't have the energy or the mettle to dodge her way out of answering today.

But she didn't ask her for advice, either. Not that it matters. Because whenever her mother encounters any of her problems, she always finds and delivers some simple cutthroat solution, and then she dismisses it as if it is solved. As if when is over in Elaine's mind, it is over, period.

But the thing is, Gail doesn't want to lose Nina to this situation. Sure, she's mad at hell at her for thinking that she would do something like that. But she already knows that maybe it is a little her fault, too. If she'd told Nina about what happened with Josh last time, when he said all those things, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if Gail had kept her distance for a while, this wouldn't have happened. Then, maybe if Gail didn't have some seriously shitty bad luck with assholes, this wouldn't happen.

Bu she doesn't want to lose her friend, one of the only friends left standing lately. She _likes_ Nina. She's sweet and fun and so different from other friends she's had. And she helps remind Gail not to be so damn uptight about things that don't matter. And as hurt and as angry as she is, she can't help harbouring some sort of hope that this will be sorted out, one way or another. She knows she probably just needs to give her some time to calm down, and maybe, she really hopes, to realise Josh's part in this.

Or maybe this is never going to be mended at all? Whatever happens, Gail knows it is probably not going to be her decision to make.

And that is depressing.

She watches her mother wrap a blue patterned scarf around her neck, inspect the effect in the mirror and then toss it back onto a pile.

"Uh, aren't we supposed to be shopping for a present for Lisa?" Gail reminds her, bored already of watching her mother shop and in no mood at all to do any browsing of her own.

"Well yes, but I just remembered that your father and I have that training seminar in Ottawa next month. There's going to be a million boring social engagements too, and I need some things to wear. It won't take a minute and then we'll find something for Lisa and then go and have a nice lunch."

Gail continues her sigh-a-thon and follows her mother to the next rack. She watches her quickly dismiss the selection of shirts hanging there and move onto the next one.

She leans against the wall yawning, feeling the vibration of her phone in her pocket. She pulls it out, both praying it is and isn't Nina. It's not. It's Holly.

_Hey. Are you around? Coffee?_

Gail shoves her phone back in her pocket. That would be a bad idea. No one but the woman who brought her into this ridiculous world should have to deal with her mood today— a form of punishment.

"Though I will say, darling," Elaine suddenly pipes up again. "I do think it's about time you moved on from that awfulness with Brendan, don't you? Started getting yourself out there again?" She lays the sweater over her arm and makes for the change rooms. "If you had a boyfriend of your own, these things wouldn't happen, would they?"

"I suppose," Gail mumbles. Sadly, it's true. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten into this mess.

"And I think you've been moping long enough, don't you?" She adds another shirt to the pile on her arm. "I'm just going to try these on. Won't be a minute."

Elaine hurries off to the change rooms. Gail trails her slowly to the door, and parks herself on a stool, resigned to the wait.

Nope, untrue, she thinks. She actually feels _fully_ committed to moping right now.

* * *

III

Gail has been hiding in her room she has become sick of the sight of those unbearably familiar four walls.

Restless but unwilling to go anywhere other than class or work this week, she has pretty much stayed in hiding. Better for everyone, she guesses.

Tonight she doesn't have to work, thank goodness. Nina called in sick for both her shifts so far. In fact she is wondering if Nina will go on calling sick until next week, when she goes home to her family for a while. Gail wouldn't be surprised. Still, she's gone to every shift terrified that Nina is going to show, but kind of hoping she will at the same time. She actually gathered up enough courage to call her a couple of times, hoping maybe she'll be willing to talk, but she isn't picking up. And Gail is not sure she is ready to go and put herself in front of her face just yet. Not until she can gauge the temperature first.

She wanders through the empty house, aimless and bored and sick of her own noisy self-hating thoughts. Her parents have both been absent, as usual, and Steve has pretty much re-installed himself at Elana's permanently, and she has spent most of the week alone.

In fact, Gail feels like she has spent way more time in this house alone than she ever has in company. Especially in the last five or six years when her parents clearly decided they were grown up enough to be basically left to themselves. They stopped hiring the baby-sitters and housekeepers that populated their early years, instead leaving them to fend for themselves. It was a new form of benign neglect: they were given pocket money, a strict set of rules and a healthy fear of what would happen if they did do something wrong. They just didn't have parents ninety percent of the time.

Most of the time it suited her just fine. But sometimes, just sometimes, Gail craved their time and attention. And she knows Steve did too. Instead, they had each other. Then, of course, when her mother was finally around, it only took Gail about twenty-four hours to find herself wishing her mother would go for another promotion, or take on some new project or task force so she would leave her the hell alone, regretting she ever wished for that maternal attention.

She stops in the kitchen, opening the fridge door and inspecting the contents, even though she is not in the slightest bit hungry. Sighing, she closes it just as quickly and wanders out into the living room.

Tempted by the golden late afternoon sun, she opens the sliding door and steps out onto the terrace. That's when she hears the sound of hammering, the sounds that tell her that her father is home— that he is where he always is when he is at home in daylight, in his shed.

She wanders down the long path to the back of the yard where the tall, wooden building sits, nestled among some apple and pear trees. She stops at the door and peers inside. Yep, there he is, in his jeans and sweater, fixing yet another shelf to the wall lined with neat, handmade shelves and hooks. She parks herself on the step, pulls her knees to her chest, rests her chin in her hand and stares out into the yard. Some of the fruit trees are still blossoming and Gail can smell the lightest hint of their pinkish, light perfume. Spring has more than sprung out here in the yard.

The hammering stops, and her father, ever the cop, immediately notes her presence.

First she hears his quiet growl of a voice, then footsteps and then feels the affectionate hand on her head for a fleeting moment.

"Gail."

"Hey, Dad," she replies, turning and looking up at him. He is leaning on the doorpost next to her; his eyes turned outward, appraising his yard, his kingdom.

He, like her mother, is looking noticeably older these days, his hair shot through with grey, even his beard. She feels like she hasn't seen him for an age. He always comes home so late from work, later even than her mother sometimes, and by the time Gail comes home from work he is usually in bed. And now the afternoons are getting longer, when he does get home at a reasonable time, he often goes straight to the yard or his shed, tinkering away at his eternal project.

"Still not finished this dump?" she grins, turning and peering inside.

He just chuckles, because they both know it is not a dump. It is beautiful. Probably the nicest shed anyone ever built in this city. From the outside it doesn't look like much, just a regular, albeit large wooden structure, but the inside is a work of wooden art, all burnished wood, high ceilings and polished floor. He has even put in windows, some high up near the attic-style roof, letting all available light in. Gail used to tease him, asking _what, so the tools can enjoy the morning sun_?

He'll probably never be finished this shed. He's always finds new things to do to it. But it doesn't matter. She instinctively knows it's less about the end product and more about the process. This, this planning, this methodical building, this constant attention to detail; they are all his version of meditation, of finding daily peace in the quiet act of _doing_.

It's the same at the cottage. When they were kids, while she and Steve always quickly re-joined the ranks of the army of kids that hung out there every summer and her mother joined her own band of the lake mothers, socialising and neglecting, her father just contented himself working all day at his various projects. He built their elaborate and much-envied cubby house when they were little, then the bunkhouse for when the number of family visitors stretched the house to its limits, swelling with bodies needing a place to sleep for the night. Then it was the coveted sleeping porch at the side of the house, the holy grail of sleeping spots on the hottest of summer nights. The projects were endless and he doted on each of them until they were done.

These projects are practical, Gail knows, but they are also planned and intricate and are, she is somehow sure, testament to what makes him such good desk police. Strategy and method, they are his _normal_. They are his strength. Unlike her mother, for whom negotiating the levels of power, inserting herself in the rankings and then climbing was the product of her intense social masterminding, he just seemed to quietly slide upward, hefted by his ability to strategise and manage big cases and task forces, projects which succeeded on the underpinnings of his quiet and calculated planning.

She also knows that this shed is his sanctuary from the world. And sometimes, just sometimes she feels the urge to come and borrows his peace for a minute.

"So what have you been up to?" he asks her.

"Nothing much. Studying for exams," she lies, still staring out into the wealth of bloom and leaf. "The orchard is looking great," she tells him.

"Yep," he agrees, "There'll be plenty of fruit. Your apple bloomed magnificently this year."

She turns and looks at the apple tree, still shedding the last of its pink blossoms. She watches petals freefall from it as the tree wavers in the light breeze coming in across the yard.

It _is_ her tree. When she was six her father took her to the garden centre with him, telling her she could choose any kind of fruit tree she wanted to plant in the backyard, the space he was slowly turning from a neat, shrubbed uniform suburban backyard into some sort of crazy market garden. He built vegetable patches along the back fence and filled in the lawn— except for one section near the terrace, which her mother demanded he kept 'normal' for guests— with what they teasingly called the 'orchard', an army fruit trees of every variety that could survive the Ontario weather.

At six Gail had no imagination for trees, and no real heed for the possibilities of nature, so she just picked the only fruit she liked at the time, an apple. Steve must have been there too, for he chose an almond tree, of all exotic— at least to her— possibilities, and planted it in the back corner, near the fence, under their father's supervision. Their father had to work like hell to keep that almond tree alive, she remembers, so deeply unsuited it was to muddy Ontario springtime. But it didn't make it, replaced the next year by a hazelnut.

But Gail doesn't remember Steve being there the day the trees were bought and planted. She just remembers the fecund smell of the garden centre, the feel of her father's hand with his wiry, hairy fingers clutching hers and later, the feel of damp soil passing through her hands as she sprinkled it around the young tree, pressing it around its narrow little trunk, tucking it into its new home by the garden path.

For the next year she had helped tend to it, which largely meant watering it every so often in summer. But its inherent hardiness and independence meant it needed nothing else from her, causing her to forget about it for a couple of years until her father took her out into the yard and pointed out the tiny fruit finally beginning to grow, clinging to the still-spindly branches of the adolescent tree. And then it just became part of the fabric of their backyard for her, a ceaseless, predictable cycle of leaf, bloom, fruit and fall, a cycle that he watches and encourages and nurtures but she only notices every now and again when she takes a moment out here, or when he brings her the first apple from the tree every year.

"You know, I'm thinking of getting rid of the pool at the end of summer," he says, recalling her to the fact that he is still standing there, behind her, mutually enmeshed in contemplation of the backyard and its place in their history.

"Why?" she asks. The small above ground pool next to the terrace is still covered from the winter, untouched since last summer. In fact, Gail is not even sure she remembers swimming in it last summer, either.

"Because you kids are grown up and you don't use it. And your mother would like an paved area on the lawn for entertaining."

Gail just shrugs. Of course its what her mother wants.

"So, anyway, how are you, my girl? You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," she tells him, knowing he is asking because she hardly ever comes out here any more and he is probably curious about this unprompted, purposeless visit.

And she tells him that because even though it her mother that put all the effort into making Gail okay— _her_ version of okay— of all of her family it is Gail's father she most wants to be okay for.

Since she finished high school, and supposedly became an adult, he is the one who has let her just be, most of the time, letting her do what she wants or need to do, however unexpected. Unless she is threatening too radical a departure from the Peck normality, he just keeps quiet and let's her go, something she appreciates more and more all the time.

But she feels his quiet concern sometimes. And she see him looking at her, too, with a fondness tempered by a mild helplessness, like he's not quite sure what to do with this alien person he has raised, who is doing things he had never thought of or done. And she feels sorry for him in these moments, because she's not sure what to do with this person sometimes either. But because of the quiet but unflinching way he cares, she wants to be okay for him more than anyone.

"Well don't study too hard," is all he says, wandering back to his shelves.

She sits a while longer, listening to the sounds of him working and absorbing the last warmth of the sun. She hears the small beep of her phone in her pocket and pulls it out. It's Holly.

_Hey, are you working tonight? Robbie and I were thinking of coming in for a drink after work._

She feels a flash of guilt that she didn't answer Holly's last message at the beginning of the week. But she is nervous of seeing Robbie. What if Nina has told him about what happened? That would be completely embarrassing. So, in lieu of making a decision about how to reply, she just stuffs the phone back in her pocket and ignores it for now. She'll answer later.

"Hey Dad, I'm going inside," she calls out, dusting down the back of her jeans as she gets up from the step. But he doesn't hear her over the sound of his hammering.

* * *

IV

"Dude, that's rough." Steve tells her, wiping froth from his upper lip.

She turns her cup on its saucer and frowns. "Yup."

"Have you spoken to her since?"

"Nope. Won't answer my calls."

He shakes his head. "Girls are weird."

"Yeah, that's what I keep saying," she tells him.

That's when his phone starts ringing. Again. He picks it up, turns a little from the table and listens hard, his face turning immediately to serious. Waiting for him to be done with his third work call during their brief coffee date, she turns and looks around the cafe. It is less busy than the first couple of times she's been there, with just half of the tables full and the waiters standing around the counter chatting instead of running around, frantic, like they usually do. She can just see Holly toiling away behind the machine, a small frown of concentration on her face as she works. She doesn't seem to have noticed Gail is there.

"Crap, I've got to go. Sorry sis," Steve says, tucking his phone into his back pocket, and sitting back and pulling on his jacket. "Work."

Gail nods, long-resigned to these constant work interruptions. This is the story of her life, her family jumping ship every time the Division calls.

"Great to see you for, what, twenty minutes?" she mutters, still compelled to pay him out on it.

"I'm sorry. Duty calls," he says, squeezing her shoulder. "And I'm sorry about what happened with your friend. That sucks."

"Whatever," she tells him.

"But thanks for showing me where the hipsters drink their coffee," he grins. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you," she mutters.

She finishes her coffee and gets up from her seat, winding her way back to the front counter where Holly is still working. She waits a beat, watching her finish making a coffee and pass the take out cup to a customer, and then steps forward.

"Hey," she says, leaning on the counter, smiling.

Holly looks up.

"Oh, hey," she says, clearly a little flustered by Gail's sudden appearance.

"Um, how are you?" Gail asks her, slightly thrown by Holly's reaction.

Holly flashes her a glimmer of a smile and then returns to frowning over the coffee machine, shrugging. "I'm okay," she says.

Gail suddenly feels weird, wondering if maybe she it's not okay to be bothering her at work.

"Uh," she says, pushing herself away from the counter. "I was just going to see if you had a break coming, but you look a little busy. I'll leave you to it," she says, uncomfortable.

"Oh, no, it's um, yeah," Holly kind of mutters, pouring milk into a shot of coffee, and quickly glancing up at Gail, her brow knitted. "I probably can in like ten minutes, but you probably don't want to wait around," she adds hurriedly.

"No, it's totally fine. I'll wait," Gail tells her, wondering why Holly is being so weird. "I'll go sit down. Come join me whenever."

She returns to her seat, thumbing through a magazine left in the middle of the table, idly looking at pictures and reading captions until Holly arrives with a coffee in her hands. A big coffee this time, Gail notes, as she parks herself on the stool opposite Gail

"I can only take ten," Holly tells her. "The boss wants us to pack up early because it's quiet because she has a hair appointment she simply can't be late for." She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee.

"That's okay," Gail says, closing the magazine and pushing it away. "I just wanted to say hi, and say sorry I didn't get back to you when you messaged those times. It was … a weird week."

"Oh, no, that's fine," Holly says hurriedly, looking at her coffee. "I didn't mean to bother you or anything. You're probably busy with other stuff, I shouldn't …"

"What?" Gail reaches over and prods her in the arm, surprised by Holly's response. "No. You weren't bothering me. Why would you be bothering me? Like I said, it was just a weird week and I _really_ wasn't fit for human consumption. I didn't think anyone should have to put up with me," she jokes.

Holly nods, frowning. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine now," Gail lies, because Holly heard enough about her personal dramas last week. She doesn't need any more, especially on her break. "How was _your_ week?" she asks.

"Yeah, it was okay." Holly shrugs.

"It's quiet today," she comments.

"Yes, thank God."

"And how's Pete?" she asks. "Not that I am being nosey," she hurriedly adds, remembering Holly's slight caginess the last couple of times they have spoken about him. "I just mean, you know, he's seems like a nice guy and I am wondering how he is."

Holly just smiles at her mini-rant.

"He's okay, I think. I haven't really seen him this week." She picks up her spoon and stirs slow circles into her coffee. "I called it off with him," she says quietly.

"What? Really?" Gail leans in, surprised. They'd seemed so easy and fun together at the opening. "How come— if you don't mind me asking, of course?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, lifting out the spoon and taking a sip of her coffee. "It just didn't feel … right. I think I just want to be friends."

"Well, fair enough," Gail shrugs. "You know how you feel."

Holly just shrugs again.

"Did he take it okay?" Gail asks, tentative, not sure where to tread yet with Holly and her personal life.

"I think so," Holly says, still stirring the coffee. "He made like it was, but it was kind of hard to tell."

"Yeah, guys love to be all macho about this stuff, don't they," Gail rolls her eyes.

"I guess," is all she says, putting down the spoon and looking down at the table, tracing a mark in the wood with her finger.

"Do you think you'll still be friends?"

"I hope so," she sighs. "He's one of the genuinely cool people in my course. I mean, everyone's nice and stuff, but they're kind of … socially limited. He's one of the good ones."

"You know, he'll be fine," Gail says, trying to lighten Holly's mood. "He'll find some other hot med student to hook up with and get over it, and then you and he can be friends. But don't feel bad. It's not like you did anything wrong."

"I don't know," Holly shrugs again. "Maybe I'm an asshole. I should have figured it out sooner."

"I don't know you that well yet, but I bet you're not an asshole," Gail grins, poking her in the arm again. "And I _bet_ you weren't an asshole about it when you told him. Besides," she adds. "It would be worse to keep pretending if you don't feel it."

"I guess."

She watches Holly frown for a minute, still playing idly with the mark on the tabletop. She seems really low.

"Hey," she says, leaning forward. "Are you _okay_?"

"Yeah," she finally replies, resting her chin on her hand and giving Gail a watery smile. "I'm just a bit, I don't know," she sighs. "There there's this thing with Pete, then exams are coming, and I have a heap of work to do And remember how I told you about Robbie's disappearing acts?"

Gail nods.

"He's doing one of those. I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed, I guess."

Gail just bites her lip and looks at her for a minute, not quite sure what to do with this slightly down, stressed version of Holly. This is the first time she's seen her less than together. She feels bad for her and for what has clearly also been a shitty week for her, too. Part of her, though, is a teensy, selfishly bit glad to see Holly isn't always _so_ upbeat and at ease.

"Hey, it's _okay_." Gail tells her, leaning forward. "You did the right thing with Pete, it sounds like. And I'll bet you'll _kill_ your exams. There's still a few weeks and then study break. Heaps of time." she drops her hand on Holly's arm, squeezing it until Holly looks up at her. "Just breathe, okay?" she tells her, smiling, because that's the only advice she knows to give.

And, obedient, Holly takes in a big breath and lets it out, shimmying her shoulders as if shaking it off, and then gives Gail a near-perfectly executed _I'm okay_ smile.

"So, was that redhead who was here before your brother by any chance?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Yup, that was the sibling." Gail tells her, realising Holly _did_ know she was there.

"Just like I pictured," Holly tells her, grinning.

"Really?" Gail raises her eyebrows. "I must have described him well, then. I thought I'd take him for a decent coffee. He'll drink watery work crap all day, and then complains about it. I thought I'd show him it isn't that hard to find a decent one downtown."

Holly smiles and glances at her watch.

"Damn, I have to go back." She picks up her cup. "But thanks for coming and saying hi. And I'm sorry I was such a mope."

Hey, you don't have to say thanks _or_ sorry," Gail tells her, frowning. "You heard all of my woes last week. It was totally your turn."

Holly smiles. "Well, thanks for letting me have my turn. I'll see you soon?"

"For sure. See you," Gail smiles, glad to see her feeling even a teensy bit better as she watches her head back behind the counter and the rest of her shift. Maybe Gail's not a completely useless friend.

**Thanks for reading and for your reviews so far. Do let me know if you're still enjoying the experiment.**


	7. Chapter 7

I

"Thank God. That took long enough," Gail mutters as the waiter leaves them with their food.

"Told you we should have gone to Ping's," Steve tells her, reaching immediately for the steaming bowl of rice.

"Yeah, but I have to get to work soon. Ping's is too far. Quit whining."

"I know," he mutters, tasting the chicken straight from the communal bowl and frowning. "It's not as good here, though." He finishes his mouthful. "So anyway, brace yourself. I'm moving back home for a while."

"Really? _Again_?" Gail shakes her head. She honestly can't keep up with Steve's moves back and forth. She is not sure she knows when it was he actually even moved out the last time.

"Yup," is all he says, spooning some rice onto his plate.

"She's that mad _again_?"

"_So_ mad," he laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

"What for this time?" Gail asks, rolling her eyes. This girl is seriously, _seriously_ uptight.

"My hours. She can't stand the shift work."

"Well it's not like there's much you can do about that. Doesn't she know that by now?"

"Yeah, she does, but," he shrugs, not finishing his sentence. But he doesn't have to. They both no Elana sees zero reason when she's mad. Which seems to be most of the time.

"Told Mom yet?" Gail asks, grinning as she picks a hunk of garlic out of her bowl. Eating that won't help earn the tips at work tonight.

"Yeah," Steve says. "She said what she always says, that our home is your home. And in a week she'll be growling at me about how I treat it like a hotel."

Gail rolls her eyes. Yep, that's the usual way it plays when Steve comes home. Their mother loves having him there, having them _both_ there, because it's more convenient to her attempts at running their lives. But then she just can't help using it against them, either, evidence of why they are not yet adults and thus clearly need her guidance.

"How _is_ work?" Gail asks.

She can't think too hard about her mother right now. They had an _actual argument_ about what exact shade of blue a cushion in the study was today.

"It's good," He shrugs. "They put me on this ongoing case with Guns and Gangs, lots of surveillance, so the hours have been even crazier. I'm thinking of taking some courses, too."

"Detective?"

"Yeah, maybe," he shrugs.

Gail nods. Of course he is going to start climbing the ladder. How can a Peck not climb the ladder? It's practically mandatory.

"Did you ever not want to be a cop?" she asks him.

"No, I love it."

"I mean," she leans back in her chair, finishing her mouthful. "Even before you actually became one. Was there, like, ever a time when you didn't imagine being one?"

He stabs his chopsticks into his food, stirring the stir-fry into his rice. Gail pulls a face. She hates how he does that. She likes to keep it all separate. No co-mingling until it's on her chopsticks.

"I maybe had a brief flirtation with being a fireman," he says, laughing. "But Mom and Dad put a swift end to that."

Gail smiles. Yep, even she knows all about the ego-fuelled rivalry between cops and the hose monkeys.

"But no, not really," he continues. "Remember, I took Dad to Show and Tell in grade one, in his uniform? The kids were so impressed, I was like, 'I got to get me some of that!'"

"Was it what you actually expected? You know, when you started?" Gail asks, not entirely sure why she wants the answer to these questions now. But she's never really asked him though, either.

He thinks about it for a minute.

"Hmm, it partly was and partly wasn't, I suppose. Some parts I knew, because of Mom and dad, but other stuff, you _can't_ know until you do it."

"Like what?" she asks, curious.

"Like that it can be kind of terrifying, especially the first few months. That when you mess up you'll be punching bag and the laughing stock of some of your seniors and TOs. Then, I don't know, even the things you did think you did know about … well, knowing it doesn't help when the time actually comes, things like shooting your gun, or having to think super fast on your feet. I don't know," he shrugs, sipping his beer. He looks over at her. "Why? You still considering it."

"I don't know," Gail sighs. "Maybe a little. It's on a list. A _big_ list of maybes." she points her finger at him, glaring. "Do NOT tell Mom."

"I won't," he shakes his head, laughing. Then he gives her another look, that stupid brotherly look he likes to deliver sometimes, like he _knows_ her. It's so damn annoying.

"I bet you do it in the end though."

"Shut up," she tells him. She hadn't meant to turn this into a discussion of her potential career. She was just curious. And sure, maybe it is still something she thinks about sometimes, but it's not a big as this is making it sound.

"Well, you know, it's awesome, but you just have to be prepared to eat shit a little the first couple of years. And to be paid out on it," he says.

"Do you still cop it?" she asks, pushing her rice into a neat pile on the plate.

"Not much any more. But yeah, the first couple of years I definitely did. But then I made a few dumb mistakes."

"Really?"

She actually can't imagine Steve making mistakes on the job. From everything she has heard, filtered down through her parents and the senior staff who sometimes come for dinner, Steve has been somewhat of a star player at his division.

"I pulled a gun on a trash can, once, in my first month."

"What?" she laughs. "Why?"

"I don't know. I swear it moved. We were in this super dark laneway, hunting down this guy who's just robbed a store. I thought it moved." He shrugs. "Was probably a rat. I got hell for that for weeks."

"You deserve it," she smirks.

"But I don't know, you just suck it up. You have to," he tells her.

"Do you still get scared?" She has never really asked him this, either.

"Sometimes," he admits, looking out the window and taking a slug from his beer.

"So, when are you moving back?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Sunday."

"Need a hand?" She asks, making a sign for the bill to the guy behind the counter.

"What, moving all my trophies?"

"Hilarious." she mutters.

"Nah, Liam's helping me out with his truck."

"Good, I didn't want to anyway," she mutters, checking her watch and pulling out her wallet. "Well, I gotta go. The rest of this incredibly average chicken is all yours," she tells him.

"Where are you going?"

"Sorry, duty calls." she gives him a faux sweet smile. "You know how it is. It's Saturday night downtown and people need their booze, dammit."

"Ah," he says, grinning and clasping his hands behind his head, watching her pay the bill. "My sister. Always fighting the good fight."

"That's right, Steve." She says, getting up and pulling on her jacket. "That's right."

She leaves him in the window of the fluorescent-lit little restaurant and trudges down the street toward work.

She tries not to be hurt by Steve's jibes about her job— she knows he really doesn't mean it, that he's not thinking about it that hard. Not like she is.

But still, those comments sting just a little. They sting in that way that she knows it's a little true, that her job is crappy and she's not really doing anything to help keep the world intact, not like her brother, or her parents, or even Moi with her drop-in centres. She wishes she wouldn't let it bother her, that she could just cruise like so many people she knows are, people like Nina, but she just isn't programmed that way. She can't shake it. And she knows it this restless feeling is probably never going to go away unless she really finds a way to make it go away.

She approaches the bar, pulls a deep breath and pushes opens the door, prepared for another night working at someone else's party.

She's already over it and it hasn't even started.

* * *

II

This is not what Gail pictured, not at all.

This party, in this apartment, with these people? Nope, this is not what she expected, not from a party Robbie invited her to, messaging her about halfway through her shift tonight to demand her attendance. As she hesitates in the open doorway, all she can think is that these people do not look like the kind of people he would hang out with, and they look nothing like the kind of people who were at his exhibition party, either. The effort gone into the party in this huge, high-ceilinged apartment, with the decorations, food and even a DJ makes it look more like a party of one that her old moneyed school friends might have had— albeit in a much cooler downtown apartment. In fact it looks just like Michelle's eighteenth, and Kate's and Kerry's. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit like Gail's too. The people look like it too, with their middle-of-the-road fashion uniforms and matching handbags and attitudes.

And from the moment she takes in the scene from just inside the front door, she wonders what the hell she is doing here among the kinds of people she has very recently begun to avoid. Pulling off her jacket, she searches the room for a familiar face, hesitant to walk right in without the security of a destination to walk to. She bites her lip, feeling completely and utterly adrift. Now she really wishes everything hadn't fallen apart with Nina. At least she'd have her here to brave entering this party with.

But there is no point wishing because Gail has actually only come to this party because she knows Nina _won't_ be there. It's the week of her big trip back home, the trip she'd been excited about for ages, and it is that which gave Gail the freedom to finish work, change her top, put on some fresh make up and head for the address Robbie sent.

If Nina had been in town, Gail knows that certain unspoken rules dictate that this party falls in Nina's friendship territory and Gail, who is supposedly the evil one, would have had to back off. Given how depressed she is by this whole scenario, and by the constant fighting with her mother now that she is forced to stay at home every single night, Gail is actually pretty glad Nina is away. She needs some fun. And these days, these guys are her only source. She'd hate to lose them right now to this stupid non-fight.

So, she's going to have to brave up and enter this party herself. She takes a few steps in, pausing by a generously laden food table and scans the room further.

Finally, feeling an almost embarrassing surge of relief, she spots Holly on the other side of the room where the living area becomes the kitchen. Gail makes an instant, relieved beeline for her.

She is leaning against the counter of the kitchen chatting to, of all people, Pete, and another guy, holding a beer and laughing, wearing what Gail has come to think of as Holly's uniform.

The look never changes. T-shirt, singlet, maybe a shirt if it's cooler. Jeans. Always jeans. Always blue. Her hair out, tangled loose around her shoulders, unless she's studying, and then it's always tied back. Like her personality, her sense of fashion has only one setting— effortlessly casual, like she doesn't have time to care about how she looks. And it doesn't even matter that she doesn't seem to care. Guys still notice her, Gail's realised. And it's not just because she's hot, but because she's approachable and she's fun. There's a vitality about her that is attractive. There's also the fact it seems like she'll give anyone a minute of her day, unless they prove not worth it.

Gail wishes she had that kind of ease, but even when she's at her most confident she doesn't and she knows she never will. She doesn't have it in her personality and she doesn't have it in her style. She doesn't even know how to leave the house without looking like she's made an effort, without at least the protective barrier of eyeliner and a carefully chosen outfit. Even tonight, taken by a surprise invite, she still spent a good twenty minutes in the washroom, touching up her make up and hair before she felt like she could go out among people without the protective distancer of the bar between herself and the world. She envies Holly's ability to just be at such ease with herself that she can exist without all the trimmings.

When she finally fights her way around the crowds, getting and giving dirty looks from underfed girls swaying on the fringes of the dance floor and emerges on the kitchen side of the room, Holly spots her and waves. She looks a hell of a lot happier than she did a week ago, when Gail saw her at the café.

Gail just raises her hands, giving her a frowning _why the hell are we here_ look as she closes the last of the distance between them.

"I know, right?" Holly smiles, nodding. She knows exactly what Gail is talking about.

"Where's Robbie?" Gail asks her, coming to lean on the counter next to her. "I demand answers."

"He's not here yet," Holly says. "He just messaged me to say he's not far away. Thanks goodness for these guys," Holly nods at Pete and his friend, a short guy in a cap. "They promised to wait until he got here."

"This is really not my scene." Pete interrupts, shaking his head. "In fact, this might be what my personal hell looks like."

His friend nods ardent agreement.

"Uh huh."

"So now that Gail's here." He tips a thumb at Gail and turns back to Holly. "Can we go?" He turns back to Gail and grins. "No offence, you understand?"

Gail raises her hands and laughs. "None taken at all."

He smiles at her, and then turns back to Holly, broadening the grin.

It seems he is taking Holly's split from him pretty well. Well enough to still hang out with her at least.

"You can go," Holly laughs, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. "Thank you for hanging out and waiting with me," she tells him, reaching over and giving the other guy a kiss on the cheek.

"No problem. Thanks for the party. The, uh, the walking here part was fun?" He suggests, grinning at Holly. He turns and gives Gail a wave. "See you."

"Bye."

He and his friend make their rapid exit through the crowds.

Holly turns back to Gail.

"I didn't know you were coming. It's good to see you."

"Well, the jury's out on whether I'm glad to be here," she shrugs. "Robbie messaged me before and invited me."

"So," Holly asks. "How is life? Aside from the fact we are here."

"Oh, it's pretty sucky right now," Gail tells her, folding her arms and leaning back against the counter. "Yours?"

"Fair to middling." Holly says, swigging her beer.

"So Pete seems okay," Gail says.

"Yeah, he does, actually." Holly says nodding slowly. "Nina and Josh coming?"

"Most definitely not," Gail sighs.

"Oh, why not?"

"Because Nina's away. Oh yeah, and she hates me right now."

"What?" Holly turns to look at her. "Why?"

Gail sighs and fills Holly in on the whole sad, sorry saga that is Nina and Josh and, supposedly—by no choice of her own— Gail. Holly just listens, eyebrows raised, to the whole thing.

"The worst part is," Gail frowns, finishing up her story. "Not only did she automatically blame me, I can't even try and get her to believe me with the 'He's gross and I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole' argument because he is her boyfriend and for some reason she doesn't know he is a freaking douche bag. Seriously, _such_ a douche bag." She turns to Holly, begging for support on this one. "You've met him, right?"

Holly nods. "Yeah, he didn't seem like the most charming person I've ever met. Or the brainiest, either."

"Crap," Gail sighs. "Maybe I _should_ have told her. Maybe I am being a shitty friend by not telling her she is going out with an idiot."

"Well, I think she's bound to figure that out for herself eventually, so don't feel too bad." Holly says.

"So, aside from the fact that the person I'd call my closest friend right now thinks I am a boyfriend-stealing slut who'd betray her in a second— which I do not do, Holly." Gail jabs a finger in the air to emphasise her point, feeling the anger and the hurt stealing back. "I _don't_ betray my friends."

"Okay," Holly holds up her hands, as if to defend herself. "I promise I won't ever accuse you of trying to steal my boyfriend, okay?"

"Good, thanks," Gail mutters. "Anyway, besides being tried and found a boy-thieving hoe and only being allowed to go to this party and see you guys because Nina is away, I no longer have anyone to stay with and have to spend every single night at home in the company of my mother, who is driving me nuts. Oh yeah, and did I mention I hate my job? But then that's an always thing," Gail shrugs.

"So, you're not really in the party mood then?" Holly says.

"No, sorry." Gail frowns. Then she turns to Holly, smiling. "I bet you want your friends to come back now."

"No, that's okay," Holly chuckles. "I get it. That all sounds bad. I'd feel pretty crappy about being the accused too."

"Anyway, I may not be in a party mood, but I _am_ in a drinking one," Gail says, folding her arms. "Where's Robbie? He said he was bringing the booze."

Holly passes her the beer she is holding. "That's all I've got, but what's mine is yours."

"Thanks," Gail mutters, taking a swig and passing it back. They stand in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the beer back and forth and watching the party gather steam around them, the volume rising and the dance floor swelling out into the kitchen area.

"These are really, _really_ not my people," Holly tells her as a bunch of girls in barely-there dresses gather around a pile of their hand bags and begin to dance in a clump in front of them, shuffling from side to side in their heels, looking around the room and gossiping.

"That speaks very, _very_ highly of you, Holly," Gail reassures her.

"Do you ever wonder what everybody is talking about all the time?" Holly asks her, passing her the last of the beer.

"Oh, I know exactly what they are talking about. " Gail says, slugging the final mouthful and putting the bottle behind her on the counter. "I've been to this party a gazillion times. They're all talking about each other or they're talking about themselves. Not necessarily in that order."

"These are your friends?" Holly scrunches up her face, confused.

"Not these people exactly." Gail tells her, looking around at the people dancing near them, or making drinks in the messy kitchen. Yep, it could have been any of the parties she went to in high school, with everyone just fast-forwarded a year or two. "But people a lot like them, and I kept hanging out with them because I'm an idiot."

"I could have told you that."

"Thanks, Holly."

"No problem."

They exchange smiles.

"Well," Gail turns to her. She's had enough of feeling maudlin "You know what I always found was the best remedy for sucky company—present company excluded, of course?"

"What?"

"Dancing."

Holly nods, as if to say she could see how that might be a good idea.

"Just drinking, dancing and ignoring them." Gail says, hands on hips. "And we have nothing left to drink, so, do you like to dance, Holly?"

"Oh, I like to dance, Gail," Holly grins.

And with that Gail grabs Holly's wrist and drags them into the sweaty, teeming interior of the dance floor.

And that's where they stay. For the next forever they dance without stopping. They dance through the good, the bad, and the cheesy, and they dance with abandon like only two people who could not give a crap what the people around them think can. Nothing is too cheesy for Gail anyway. She unashamedly likes crap mainstream pop when she's on a dance floor and she does not care. And Holly dances like she doesn't care too— Gail's favourite kind of partner in crime. She doesn't judge— she doesn't even look at anyone else around them, investigating what they are doing in that self-conscious side-eyed way so many insecure girls do. When the music is good, they move like they like it. And when the music is bad, they move like it's hilarious. Together it turns out they are a match made in dance floor heaven. And it's all ridiculous fun and for a while Gail manages to forget how craptastic everything has been of late.

She's forgotten how much she used to love to dance, how it used to sustain her, to carry her through the vapid empty clubbing nights and the parties, when she couldn't be bothered with the talk, with getting caught up in all the gossip, the idle chat, the crap. _This_. Just the sound, and the mindless task of just moving. This used to be her escape.

And so she keeps dancing. Every now and then she accidentally knocks some girl and gets a filthy look for her troubles, or some guys comes edging in, thinking he can get in on it, playing the sleaze game, but Gail just smiles and then gives these people who don't know yet that tonight is not about them her best, branded _no chance_ look and turns toward Holly, or away into herself. Tonight, nothing is going to touch her. She is just going to dance.

She has no idea how long they have been caught up in the epicentre of the steaming, milling mass of bodies when Gail feels an arm wind around her neck and a stubbly face press a kiss to her cheek. She's just about to shove the arm off her shoulder when she realises it is Robbie, grinning from ear to ear, his arm around each of their necks.

"Both of you!" he yells. "It's Christmas!"

He lets go of them and reaches into his bag, pulling out a bottle of tequila and a handful of shot glasses. Gail throws her head back and laughs, still moving to the music. Only Robbie would be classy/unclassy enough to carry actual shot glasses around in his feral little denim bag.

He somehow manages to wrestle some of the clear liquid into one glass without getting bumped or spilling any. He passes it to Gail and she passes it to Holly. He pours two more and hands one to Gail.

"Whose party is this, anyway?" Gail shouts in his ear, wiping the sweat from her neck with her free hand.

"My friend Megan's," he shouts, tilting his glass in her direction before downing the shot. "We were in photography together. But then she quit to model. She's doing really well."

"Of course she is," Gail mutters, looking around the room before downing her shot. Only a model could afford this apartment at their age. She turns and looks at Holly, one eyebrow raised. Holly just laughs and shrugs, downing her shot and wincing.

"Stop it, you snob!" Robbie tells Gail, wagging a finger at her and grinning before pouring another shot into her glass. "She's a sweetheart and she's smart, too. Kind of." He laughs and tips back another slug. Then he pulls a face and shakes his head violently,

"I'm going to find her and say hi." He says, his eyes sweeping the room, thrusting the bottle at Holly. "You take care of that. By that I mean drink it. I've had way too much to drink already."

He grabs them both by the neck again, kisses their cheeks and disappears into the crowd.

Holly holds up the bottle, pulling a face, as if to say _what am I supposed to do with this?_ Gail takes it from her. She knows can dance just as well with or without a bottle in her hands. She's perfected the art over the years. And they just keep moving, Gail with one hand firmly around the neck of the bottle. Now that her date has arrived, the night is complete.

At some point Gail has been dancing so long she's worried she's never going to find her land legs again. It's not long after that they hit a string of late nineties cheese that not even they can pretend to like and they completely run out of steam, departing the dance floor in search of air and seating.

Holly finds it in the form of a vacant armchair, a decadent, wide beige thing lodged in a corner in a space between the front door area and the fringes of the dance floor, covered in discarded jackets and coats. She squashes up onto one side, her knees to her chest and pats the cushion next to her. Gail backs in, flops down, tucks the bottle in between them and puts the glasses on the arm. They are so close to the dance floor Gail could nearly reach out and touch the wall of moving bodies if she wanted to. Instead, she turns inward a little, toward Holly, leaning her head against the back of the chair, exhausted and sweaty.

She stares out across the room, catching her breath. She spots Robbie near the wall on the other side of the door talking to a redhead girl, his hand on her arm. It must be Megan the model. Gail can tell she must be the model because she is super tall and skinny, but she doesn't look that pretty. The best models never seem to. She's learned that from the embarrassing amount of cycles of Next Top Model she's consumed over the years. The weird looking ones always win. They are all gawky and awkward and then turn beautiful in front of a camera.

Holly pours them another shot each. They throw it back in unison and tuck the bottle back into the sofa cushions between them. Too exhausted and now too drunk to get up, they stay put, snuggled around the bottle.

"So, what would you have been doing if you were here with those old friends you used to party with?" Holly asks her, playing with the shot glass.

Gail looks out at the swell of bodies around them and shrugs. She tries to recall all those parties through the fog of distance and drunkenness, all those nights that populated her weekends over the years. She doesn't remember much, just a sameness shaped by routine rounds of drinking and dancing and gossip, gossip about things that seem so vital at the time and are clearly so forgettable now.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "Same as everyone else was doing, I guess."

She notices a girl on the dance floor looking at them, turning and saying something to the one next to her. The other girl glances at them briefly and nods.

"I'd probably be wondering why those two weirdos are perched on that chair in the corner on a pile of coats," she adds,

Holly just laughs and shrugs, leaning back against the seat and tucking her hair back behind her ears. "I think I'd prefer to be the weirdo," she says.

"What would you be doing tonight"" Gail asks, curious. "If you weren't here?"

"I don't know," she frowns. "Maybe watching movies at Pete and Glen's like they were planning to before I dragged them here, poor things. Or studying for exams."

"Studying?" Gail mock-scoffs. "Boring." She tips her empty glass against Holly's. "Well I, for one, am glad you are here suffering this with me instead of toiling over your books or watching sci-fi movies."

"You are not suffering," Holly laughs. "I saw you on the dance floor."

Gail just laughs and shrugs again. True. She hasn't really been suffering. That was fun.

"And sci-fi movies? What makes you think that?" Holly pokes her in the leg. "Just putting us firmly in your science geek box and shutting the lid?"

"Maybe." Gail tells her, smiling. "Well, what _would _you be watching?"

Holly rolls her eyes. "Well, probably some really _really_ niche indy film, or some undiscovered gem of a famous director. Glen's a total film freak."

"So, still geeky then?" Gail flicks her eyebrows up at her.

"Well I am glad you're here, too," Holly tells her, ignoring her jibe. "I probably would have left pretty soon if you weren't." Holly corrects herself. "I _know _I would have. No fun following Robbie around at these things."

"Well thanks for staying on my behalf, Holly," she throws back.

But it's only a part-joke because it does, sadly, warm her, that she is deemed worthy of sticking around with— for.

"Well I couldn't leave you on your lonesome with these people," Holly tells her, turning and giving her a smart-ass grin. "You might have been re-infected."

"Yeah, yeah," she mutters, acknowledging the tease, and sighing. "Anyway, I kind of needed this— weird as this party is."

"Me too, strangely."

They smile at each other; slow smiles of recognition and something else, something like mutual sympathy.

With that, Holly pours them another shot and they drink it down with sober ceremony.

They debate dancing again, but the music has taken a turn for the kind of worse not even they can stand by. Instead they just talk, shooting the crap, sharing random memories, and making up some of the huge gaps in their knowledge of each other. Then, somehow, as they dissolve into tequila-drunkenness, they end up playing a game. Taking it in turns, one of them picks out someone, or even a couple or a group, from around the room, and the other one has to make up a story about them, to invent dramas, or concoct secret fears and habits. It is dumb and pointless and they are just drunk enough to get a complete stupid kick out of it.

When Holly has finished telling her all about the random middle-aged man who just walked in and his penchant for the feet of young girls, it's Gail's turn.

"Your turn. Pick someone!" she demands, slapping Holly leg.

"Ow, okay. No need to brutalise!" Holly winces, rubbing her leg and then grinning. She begins scanning the room.

Finally she finds what she is looking for.

"Them," Holly leans her head sideways on the back of the chair, her hair tickling the side of Gail's face as she points through the dance floor to a couple standing by the food table, inspecting the contents. For a fleeting moment Gail wishes she hadn't drunk as much and that she felt like taking advantage of the free food, because it looks really good from here.

The couple have their backs to her, and there are about twenty people dancing between their chair and them, so it is pretty hard to get an idea of what they are like, except they look basically the same as everyone in the room; brand named, moneyed and boring. Eventually, the girl plucks a carrot sticks from the array of food and turns slowly to look over the room. Gail is about to tell Holly how she will be off to the bathroom in minutes to purge the carrot stick, when she gets a look at her face.

It's Kate.

"Oh shit." Gail moans, turning her head quickly toward Holly, burying into her face into the back of the sofa.

"What's wrong?" Holly asks.

"Girl I went to high school with," Gail mumbles, punching the back of the sofa.

She starts swinging her head back and forth, veering wildly between wanting to hide her face and wanting to see where Kate is, in case she comes anywhere near their private armchair kingdom.

"I have never, ever seen her alone, without the other two," Gail mutters, catching another glimpse as Kate closes in on the snack table again. "It's like seeing a hamster in the wild. I mean, you only ever see them in cages. _I've _never seen one in the wild."

Holly laughs. "I am not sure that it is completely owing to my state of drunkenness," she tells her, poking her in the arm. "That I have zero idea what you are talking about right now."

Gail watches Kate accept a glass of champagne from the guy she came in with, a wide, tall guy with curly brown hair. She gives him a simpering smile of thanks. Gail pulls a face. She cannot believe Kate has turned up here, a completely unexpected and irritating intruder in what has turned out to be the randomest of fun nights.

"See, I _knew_ it was that kind of party," she moans, pressing her face against the sofa again as she sees Kate begin to look around, taking an interest in the room.

"_That_ kind of party?" Holly laughs. "You make it sound totally sinister. Like we are going to be injected drugs against our will in darkened rooms, and induced to perform bizarre sexual acts."

Still, she's clearly sympathetic because she pours them a shot, which they slug quickly. Then she picks up a cushion and holds it in front of Gail's face.

Gail giggles. "Thanks," she sighs, giggling and positioning her head right in front of the cushion. "No, I just mean full of boring vapid idiots like her."

"Well that's okay then," Holly laughs, turning her head back to her, her brown eyes shining. "You want _me _to make up a story about her? Will that make you feel better?"

"Sure," Gail grinning, settling into the chair behind her protective shield of beige. And Holly, with a surprisingly evil glint in her eye, goes off into a long-winded tale of debauchery and punishment where nothing good has ever happened to Kate and her date. Sadly, it actually does make Gail feel a little better. Well, at least it makes her laugh.

And the game continues, accompanied by more shots of tequila and hysterical, face-numbing laughter.

Gail shakes her head. Who knew the highlight of her night would be stuck behind a cushion in a corner on top of a pile of coats? But there you go. And the game continues to escalate, the stories getting stupider, with more laughing than actual storytelling going on, helping to flesh out each other's stories with more and more ridiculousness. It's like the whole night is this deeply funny joke and they are the only ones in the room who get it.

Then it happens. She has no idea how it happens or who started it. In fact, if she were questioned in a court of law, she is not sure she could answer truthfully. And when she looks back at it the next day it is no clearer, of course, via the lens of her mind-blowing hangover. It just looks to her like a series of grainy jump shots from one moment to the next with no necessary cause and effect, no incident and consequence. One minute they are laughing hysterically, Holly's elbow resting on Gail's knee as she continues to hold up the cushion to hide her, and the next they are downing another shot. Then, for a split second, they are just looking at each other. And then, mere seconds later, in a clash of hot breath, lips, tequila and tongue, they are kissing.

It's not a long kiss, but long enough for the cushion to be dropped and hands to start grabbing for leverage. And it ends when Holly accidently pulls at her hair and Gail comes to, snapping her head back, eyes wide. And staring straight back at her is Holly, her eyes just as wide. Then suddenly Holly begins to laugh, quickly pulling herself up to sit on the arm of the chair.

"Umm," Holly says, folding her arms and pulling an _eek_ face.

Before Gail can say anything— even if she could— Holly grins. She leans down close, pointing at her.

"So, inappropriate, drunken make outs are generally a solid cue for me that it's _well_ over time to go home. So," she sighs, smiling and handing Gail her glass. "I am _out_. See you."

Gail takes the glass, still rendered too speechless to respond.

With that Holly smiles, swings her long legs over the side of the chair, picks out her coat from the pile and disappears into the crowd by the door.

Stunned by both that impromptu kiss _and _the rapid departure, Gail stays nailed to her seat, still clutching both the glasses in her hands.

She has many, _many_ questions.

Her most pressing one being, of course, _what the hell just happened?_

But then, she pretty much knows no one can tell her that because she was right there and she has zero idea.

Second, does that mean she should probably leave, too? Gail's done plenty of 'inappropriate' making out, sure. It's part of the fun of parties like these, being messy. Never with a girl, though. That part's definitely new. Maybe it _is_ time to go home.

Yep, Gail nods to herself, she must be really very, very drunk.

Third, how did that even happen? And who the hell started it? Gail is not sure she could name the instigator, which makes it all the more weird.

She shakes her head, then rests her cheek on her hand, frowning.

And fourth did it really mean that Holly had to bolt like that? Did she have to leave her stranded on a chair, a Gail-shaped pile of stunned and drunk? That's no fun. Surely they could have just gotten over the awkwardness and gone back to the dance floor and forgotten about it?

She sighs. How the hell did it happen that a night that turned out so lame and then turned so freaking fun, just catapulted itself somehow to outright weird?

Really, what just happened?

But before she can get any further along in her stunned and somewhat circular and useless self re-interrogation, a body flies over the arm of the seat and lands in her lap. It's Robbie, of course.

"Where have you been?" he demands. "I need tequila."

He clearly did not see what just happened, thank goodness.

"I've been right here." Gail grumbles, reaching under his legs for the bottle. "And you're sitting on it."

"Okay, well," he shrugs; taking the bottle she has yanked from under him and the proffered glasses. "Shall we drink?"

Gail shrugs and nods. She might as well, right? Right.

"Where's Holls?" Robbie asks, unsteadily pouring tequila into the glasses and handing one to her.

"Gone home," she mutters.

"Oh. Boo. Want to dance?"

"Why not?" Gail tells him, taking the glass and throwing the shot back. Might as well carry the night all the way to ruin.

**Thank you so much for reading and for your reviews so far. I hope you're enjoying it.**


	8. Chapter 8

I

And that's exactly how she wakes up, in ruins.

Actually, she wakes to the sound of quiet strumming, a sound that immediately begins to somewhat violently compete with the symphony going off in her own head; the combined melodies of _ouch_, _ugh_ and _what the fuck?_

She opens her eyes to daylight, winces, and closes them just as quickly. The world hurts today. Yes it does. And whatever that freaking sound coming from the outside of her skull is, it is not helping one bit.

But she also has the instinctive feeling that whatever she is about to open her eyes to right now will only cause it to hurt a little more.

Besides, before she finds a way to make it stop, she has far more pressing concerns: namely the question of whether or not she is wearing clothing.

This is something more difficult to ascertain than one might think without making any actual, physical movement, she quickly discovers— particularly given the current state of her brain. But this is a question that must be answered before she greets whatever remnant of last night she is about to no doubt face.

It takes a moment of sheer concentration on what is going on at the surface level of skin to determine the answer. Then, slowly, she registers the cling of denim at her hips, and the space where her top has ridden up slightly at her lower back, retreating from the hem of her jeans. She wriggles her toes gently. Hell, she is even wearing socks.

_Yes._ She will take that as a win.

The light strumming continues, then stops, and starts again a moment later.

Time to deal.

She opens her eyes halfway again, and mutters into the unfamiliar brown covers.

"Tell me I did not spend the night in the bed of someone who plays guitar. _Acoustic_ guitar."

She hears a chuckle and then the thrumming thud of the guitar being put down on the floor.

"Two chords. That's all I can play, if it makes you feel any better."

"Not really," she mumbles, pulling the covers up around her neck, knowing she should be finding a way to get the hell out of here. But it's kind of cosy and less sick-making to lie very, very still right here in this strange bed.

"It's not even my guitar," the voice continues. "It's a friend's. I'm looking after it. His girlfriend was furious at him and he was scared she'd smash it or something."

"What'd he do? Play it?"

"Wow, you're sharp this morning."

"Are you trying to suggest that last night I was not?" she mumbles.

She finally commits to opening her eyes a little. It's going to have to happen sometime.

He is sitting up in the bed— well, it seems to be a mattress on a floor— leaning against the wall, a lanky guy wearing a faded green t-shirt, with light honeyed brown waves of hair falling below his ears. She can only see him in profile, but he is _kind of_ familiar. No name is floating to the surface of her memory, though. In fact nothing much at all is surfacing really.

"Oh no, you told me last night that you were a hippo," he laughs. "I think you meant an elephant, and that you don't forget a thing, so not to lay a hand on you once you got in my bed, because you'd remember."

"I did?" she mumbles, "Well done, me."

She pushes her face into the pillow and tries to think of a way to ask for a glass of water without revealing just how hung over she is. She needs to go to the bathroom, too, but that is terrain she is not sure if she can negotiate, not without any knowledge or memory of the existence of flatmates, or family, or pets. Too hard. Too dangerous.

All of a sudden he climbs off the mattress, the slight movement setting off a wave of nausea through her being.

"I'll be back in a sec," he says, disappearing.

She takes this minute to assess the situation, to double check, lifting the cover and her head, looking down. Wow, she is not just not undressed, she is, like, impressively, fully dressed. Only her jacket and her boots are missing. She looks around the room. There is her jacket, hanging neatly on a chair at the end of the bed, her boots just beneath. She quickly crawls out of the covers, reaches for the jacket and pulls it over to her, feeling in the pockets for her phone and her wallet. Both are present and accounted for. _Well done me_, she thinks again.

So far so good, in coming out of this night intact.

Relieved, she lies down again, letting this second storm surge of nausea from her rapid movements abate. She may have all her belongings, and some of her wits about her, but this is not going to be a fun hangover. No chance.

She lies back down and tries to recollect whatever fragments of last night she can gather from her cloudy brain. Oh yeah. Tequila. She remembers tequila. And dancing. Lots of dancing. Maybe she found him on the dance floor?

Her little lone game of Memory is interrupted by him coming back into the room, carrying a glass of water. She prays it is for her. He sits on the edge of the bed and passes it to her. Grateful, she takes it.

"Thanks," she mumbles, drinking it down quickly and setting the glass on the windowsill next to her. The sun is shining outside, easing in around the dark brown curtains, a puce-ish fabric that nearly matches the colours of his equally ugly bedspread.

She realises she has absolutely no idea what time it is, either. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jacket. It's just after eleven.

There is also message from Robbie.

_I think this can be fixed with bacon. We're going to try, anyway. Come? Ike's in half an hour?_

"So, last night was fun," the mystery guy says, yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

"Was it?"

A phone starts ringing in the hallway. Then a dog starts barking. He sighs.

"Hang on, I'll be back." He leaves the room again.

_No hurry_, she thinks. She considers going to meet Robbie. The thought of food is slightly off-putting right now, but it might be nice to commiserate over how awful she feels. She assumes he shared in whatever fun happened last night because dancing with him is one of her few scattered memories. She checks the time of the message. Twenty minutes ago. She could make it. 'We' must mean Holly is coming as well.

Holly.

And then she freezes, remembering. The dance floor. The game. The beige armchair. That kiss.

She bites her lip. Oh yeah. How did that happen, again?

And, even more pressing a question, how did last night just _keep on going_ after that little episode of randomness? Surely that was enough craziness for one night? She was so drunk then she's not sure how she even lasted from that point, from drunkenly kissing her friend— a _girl_ friend— to whatever happened in between to ending up in this guy's bed. The problem is, she can't remember much beyond that time on the armchair. She knows Holly went home, her own somewhat stunned, drunken reaction to that moment. She knows Robbie made her dance again. But just how long did Gail stay out?

She wonders if Holly remembers the kiss, too. That could make a hung over breakfast date kind of awkward. And Gail's is already facing one ghost of her night's past. Can she really face another one right now?

Before she can decide, he comes into the room again, standing at the door and smiling at her. He actually seems kind of … well … nice, which is a bonus, she guesses. He clearly didn't lay a hand on her, past whatever passed between them before she got to his house. And she is sure there was probably at least some drunken making out at some point in the night if she felt it was okay to make use of his bed at the end of the night.

And he _did_ bring her water. That says something. She remembers one horrendous morning, after one of those unfortunate post-Brendan one night stands, when one guy wouldn't even talk to her. He just grunted at her from over his controller, fixed on the screen and the game console set right, sadly, at the end of his bed as she made her hasty departure. This guy and his cheekbones are clearly perched a few steps up the evolutionary ladder at least.

She wishes she knew his name. Hell, at this point any autobiographical detail would be good, aside from the fact he doesn't seem to like to use a vacuum, and he is overly fond of the various shades of brown. And yeah, those cheekbones.

"You want some breakfast?"

She strangely suddenly kind of does. But where, and with who?

She quickly assesses the potential levels of awkward of each breakfast option and makes her decision.

"Uh, no, I actually have to meet my friends," she tells him.

Better the potentially uncomfortable devil you know, right?

That's what Gail tells herself as she climbs slowly out of bed, pulling her top back down to meet her jeans.

"So … where are we?" she asks, knowing it is an admittance of her lack of memory of last night. But she's got to get out of here somehow. She quickly scoops up her jacket and her phone.

"Downtown. Near the corner of Mason and Ascot. You know it?"

"Yep," she mutters. Good. She's near the University, at least. And Ike's. She can make it there in time.

He goes over and flops back down on his bed again, crossing his legs and sitting against the wall, tucking his hair behind his ears.

"So, what are the chances of you giving me your number?" he asks.

"None to … none," she mutters, yanking on her jacket and pulling up the zip.

"No problem," he says, grinning at her. "Was just checking. You already gave it to me last night."

Wow, she must _really_ have liked him last night.

"So I guess you'll know my name when I call you," he says, still grinning.

She doesn't say a word. Whoever he is, this guy is too alert for her this morning. Her brain cannot do this level of nimble right now. It's still at the reboot stage.

He picks up the guitar again and starts strumming.

That's her cue to leave.

"Uh, well, thanks for half your bed," she tells him, the best she can muster for manners right now.

"Half might be a stretch. You're quite the covers thief," he tells her, plucking at the strings.

"Stop trying to be charming," she retorts, pulling her hair out from under her jacket collar. But she can't help giving him a small smile, though, as she shakes her head. "Nothing is going to work this morning."

"Okay then," he says, casual, "Well, see you later, Gail."

Damn. She also told him her real name. She really must have been at least kind of interested last night.

"Yeah, see you," she says, making for the door.

She hits the pavements, taking a deep, nauseous breath and trying to get her bearings, heading for what she hopes is Ascot street.

Walking as quickly as her tender head will allow her, she pulls out her phone. There is still a little bit of battery left. Enough to see that there are two missed calls from Robbie. _And_ three messages that came in before the invitation to breakfast.

The first, some time in the early hours of this morning.

_Where did u go? Don't u know you shld never, ever leave me it a party alon. I do stupid tings_.

She smiles. Yeah, like forgetting how to type.

And doesn't he know he should never let her leave a party with random floppy-haired strangers?

The next came in two hours ago.

_So, I want to die. How are you? But I have, I can announce, finally located the right adjective for this hangover._

And then, ten minutes later.

_Okay, you didn't ask, but I am going to tell you. Adj: diabolical._

She smiles.

Should she go to breakfast? Now, out in the harsh reality of daylight and her monstrous (she's opting for monstrous) hangover, she's second-guessing her decision to meet them. Mostly because she has no idea where to put that random kiss with Holly into the scheme of her night— let alone her life.

But then maybe she doesn't need to, not if Holly isn't weird about it. Then they can just ignore it, put it down to a drunken party thing. Gail's used to doing these kind of hot mess things when she's drunk. She did enough of them— well, not exactly _that_— after Brendan. She just has no idea how Holly will be about it. Holly doesn't strike her as someone who does stupid trashy things that often. Then, she _did_ say that thing about random inappropriate make outs. So maybe she is. Maybe Holly has some debauched potential Gail just hasn't discovered yet? Well, she kind of has now, she supposes.

She might as well go to breakfast, she decides, shrugging to herself. It's better than going home and facing her parents and however it is that they'd like her to spend her day. She walks to the nearest street corner, gets her bearings and heads for the café.

* * *

II

She finds them in a booth in the back corner, already armed with coffee, and a large pitcher of water.

"Hey!" Robbie calls, spotting her and waving. He has his hood pulled over his head; blond curls are sticking out the top of it.

She stalks over to the booth.

"Hey," she groans, flopping down next to him, and resting her head on his shoulder.

He reaches up and pats her cheek. "You came."

"Just. It hurt just to walk here."

"Hi," Holly says, pouring a third glass of water and sliding it over to her. Then she smiles. And it's just a regular Holly smile. Not a weird or freaked out or uncomfortable _we made out last_ night smile.

Maybe she doesn't even remember? That would help. Or maybe she does and it's no big deal. Either way, she's not being weird and Gail feels a welling of relief. One less thing to worry about. She'll take her cue from that.

"Hey, thanks," Gail sighs, taking a long sip. The glass of water that the random sleepover dude gave her didn't even touch the sides of this hangover's rampant thirst.

"How are you?" Holly asks, still smiling at her, smiling, like she knows the answer already.

Gail just grunts into her glass and keeps drinking.

That good, huh?" Robbie asks. "Me too. Last night was messy. Fun, but messy."

"Agreed," Gail mutters, wiping her mouth.

"And you are rocking _quite_ the panda eye this morning, I must say," Holly tells her, grinning.

Gail swipes her thumbs under her eyes. They come up black. She frowns. Maybe she should have looked in a mirror before she left that guy's place. She pulls a compact out of her pocket and inspects the damage, cleaning up the worst of it with her fingers.

"Hang on," Robbie says, tipping his head to the side and looking her up and down and narrowing his eyes at her. "And you're still in your clothes from last night. And you didn't stay with Nina," he adds. "Could this be a walk of shame, missy?"

He leans over and sniffs at her, like he's going to be able to tell just from that.

She punches him in the shoulder. "Get away, you creep."

She also quickly computes the fact that Robbie somehow knows about their falling out. Did Nina or Holly tell him? Or does he just know she's away?

"And no," she mutters, putting the compact away and slamming back the rest of the glass of water. "It's a walk of shamelessly using a guy for his bed. To clarify," she adds, pointing at him. "Shamelessly using his bed _without _putting out." She puts down her glass and fills it again. "There is a line at which I will stop, shell out for a cab, and simply return to the bosom of the family McMansion."

"Good to know," Robbie nods, grinning. "There is no such line for me."

"He was kind of hot though, actually," Gail says, picking up a menu and trying to make sense of the written word. "Wish I remembered actually meeting him. Do you remember any of it?" she asks Robbie.

"Not a thing after the second party," Robbie tells her.

"The _second party_?" Gail jaw drops. She has zero recollection of any second party.

Holly laughs again. "I am _so_ glad I went home," she says, shaking her head.

"Yeah, remember?" Robbie turns toward Gail again. "Megan ditched her own freaking party and took us to this other one in that loft? Maybe he came with us, or maybe you found him there?" Robbie shrugs, turning back and perusing the menu. "Anyway, I can't keep a handle on my own night. I sure as hell can't help you with yours."

"Fair enough," Gail says.

She tries to read the menu again, but eventually puts it down. She decides to just pick something on the spot when the waiter asks. Reading English is clearly a challenge she cannot take up today.

"I wish I _could_ remember this guy, though," Robbie tells her, turning and giving her a look.

"Why?" Gail asks, eyes narrowed

"Curiosity," he shrugs. "Given what a bitch you can be on first meeting, for a guy to be into you— to _brave_ being into you—he is either going to have to find you so hot he can't resist. Or charming. Hot should be easy. There's no mistaking you're hot. But charming?" He shakes his head. "That'd have to be an acquired taste, I guess."

"Wow," Gail mutters, shaking her head. "Did you just get me to come here so you could drop truth bombs on top of the wreckage of my night?"

"Nah, just teasing," he laughs, flipping the menu around between his fingers. "Anyway, _I_ personally find you thoroughly charming."

"Just not hot," Gail throws back, giggling.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, nudging her shoulder. "That's an acquired taste problem."

They order food and Robbie reads them their stars from the newspaper while they wait.

"Ooh, mine says to relax after a busy week, and to lock down some time with friends. Win!" Robbie says, folding the newspaper in half so it will fit on the table. "I shall do as it commands. Now, Holly," he says, running a finger along the page.

"I don't really need my horoscope," Holly mutters. "I can pretty much guess how today is going to turn out."

"Too bad," he tells her, leaning over the page and reading. "You are amazing, incredible and beautiful and you are so gifted and intelligent you don't even need to study for your exams. Instead, you should spend all your time with your dearest friend Rob …"

"Shut and tell me the real rubbish, you idiot," Holly tells him, reaching over the table and grabbing his wrist.

"But it's boring," he complains. "Time to reflect how far you have come with attaining your goals, exercise self-discipline yada yada yada. You already do that stuff," he says.

Holly just shrugs, sipping her coffee. "Told you."

"Now, Gail," he says.

"What?" she sighs, resigning herself to the worst.

"You should have some financial gains this week," he tells her, poring over the sheet.

"Oh goodie," Gail says. Her savings _are_ looking a little sad.

"This week should also be about hard work and setting goals for yourself," he continues

"Yeah, like not getting so drunk," she nods, agreeing. Holly smiles at her.

"And you should beware of taking advice from family members."

"Well that should be in there every week," she says, leaning over and jabbing the paper. "I hope my mother reads that."

Not that she would. Her mother doesn't believe in astrology, of course. Neither does Gail, really. How can all the people in the world be divided up into just twelve types, ruled by twelve sets of advice? She's terrible at maths, but she knows that can't possibly statistically work.

The waiter arrives with their food and Robbie puts the paper away. Gail takes a tentative bite of her bacon roll, chewing slowly and swallowing. So far, so good. She is almost ready to brave a coffee, to test the waters of the delicate equilibrium that carbohydrates and water have granted her with a stimulant.

Holly just gets a serve a toast and eats it with a scraping of butter.

"That's _really_ sad you know, Holly." Gail tells her, chewing on her roll, and staring over at her barren plate.

"It's for the best, believe me," she says quietly, scraping on a little more butter.

"You're quiet today," Robbie says to her, heaping his fork with waffle and pouring syrup straight on it.

"Feel sick," Holly mutters, taking another bite.

"At least you left before everything went pear-shaped," he says, starting on his second coffee. "Why'd you leave so early anyway?"

"Drunk," Holly shrugs, grinning.

"You're such a lightweight," he says fondly.

She just shrugs again. "Or sane," she says. "At least I can kind of remember my night," she tells them, still smiling, but not looking up from her plate.

Gail pauses, her roll halfway to her mouth. She _does_ remember.

But maybe because of all their lack of memory talk, now Holly thinks Gail doesn't remember? That's good, she supposes. Saves on the awkward.

"So, what are you guys doing for the rest of the day?" Robbie asks, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

"Preferably IV fluids and bed rest," Holly says, leaning back against the booth and yawning. "I _should_ study," she sighs. "But somehow, I don't think it's going to happen until later. Much later."

He turns to Gail. "Gail?"

"Avoiding going home for as long as I can," she says. "Mom gets kind of chirpy on Sundays. And chirpy Mother is horrifying. She doesn't seem to know it's supposed to be a day of rest. And I already have to go to dinner at my cousin's with them later."

"Can I suggest lying around and watching vapid teen films at my place? With junk food?" he says, pushing his plate away.

"And Gatorade?" Gail asks.

"And Gatorade." He nods. "Most definitely."

"The yellow one?"

"The yellow one," he agrees.

"Then I am _in_," she tells him.

Robbie turns to Holly. "Holly?"

She raises her hands and nods. "You had me at lying around."

* * *

III

Robbie's bedsit is tiny. And incredibly, freakishly spotless. Everything in the room: books, papers, clothes, are arranged neatly, the surfaces clean and tidy. The walls are mostly bare; just a few unframed photographs pinned in random light-catching spots on the clean white walls. Even the bed is perfectly made.

"Did you stay here last night?" Gail asks him, frowning at the immaculate bed.

"Yeah, why?" he asks, throwing his keys onto the bench.

"No reason," she tells him. Wow, he even made it this morning, as hung over as he claims to be. Gail makes her bed about four times a year. Seasonally, she guesses. She frowns, sniffing the air. It even smells good in here, like no other guy's bedroom she has ever been in.

She sits on the arm of a small chair near the window.

He runs his fingers over the copious shelves of DVDs, pulling out one every now and then. He lays the selection he has made out on the bed.

"Okay, which one?" he asks.

Gail takes a cursory look at the covers as she unzips her jacket. She's seen most of them. Not that it matters.

"Don't care," she shrugs, laying her jacket neatly over the back of the chair. "Nothing that will tax my brain, though."

"Oh, I don't plan on taxing anyone's brain today, not after last night's cellular destruction. Exercise in futility. Holly?"

Holly just shrugs, examining a photo on the wall. "Whatever, I don't mind. I like this picture."

"Good, then I'll pick." He plucks one from the pile and puts the rest neatly back on the shelves.

"Do you alphabetise your DVDs?" Gail asks, giggling. "I'm getting the feeling you might."

"Shut up, you."

He turns on the television and opens the tray of his DVD player.

"Oh, shit," he suddenly says, freezing, DVD in hand.

"What?" Holly asks, kicking off her shoes.

"I just remembered I might have done some inappropriate making out with a guy from my photo theory class on the dance floor at the first party."

_Inappropriate making out_. Gail snaps her head up, remembering Holly's words from last night. She steals a glance at Holly. She is looking right back at her. They both burst out laughing.

She does remember. The both remember, Gail realises.

And given that they are both laughing, it seems to be okay.

"What?" Robbie asks.

"Nothing." Gail shakes her head.

"Did you see it happen?"

"No," she mutters, still giggling. She looks back over at Holly. She is still chuckling too as she perches on the edge of the bed, shaking her head, her eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Seriously," Robbie says, putting the DVD in the tray. "Don't make me insecure. I am extremely fragile today."

"Really, it's nothing. We both just remembered something." Gail tells him, grinning and going over to the other side of the bed and lying down against the pillows. "Nothing to do with you,"

"With what, then?"

"Oh, just a couple of people making drunken idiots of themselves at the party last night," Holly tells him, kicking her legs over on to the mattress.

"Ooh, who?" he asks, throwing himself down on the bed between them. "Will it make me feel better about myself?"

"No, probably not," Gail tells him.

There's no way she is telling him. She glances back at Holly. Holly gives her a conspiratorial smile.

Clearly she isn't either.

"Okay," he says, reaching over Gail and picking up the remote control from his bed stand. "Then shut up and let's watch this damn movie then."

He turns on the film and the previews begin.

Robbie nestles himself back against the stack of pillows and pulls his hood right down over his head.

"You know what I'd like?" he says. "To be swaddled."

"What?" Gail frowns.

"You know, all wrapped up from head to toe, like a little Eskimo baby. That would feel really good right now."

"Uh, okay then, freak," she says, patting his arm "Go right ahead."

He just shrugs and pulls the blanket from the end of the bed up and over the three of them.

"This'll do," he says, picking up the remote control and upping volume as the film starts.

* * *

IV

Later, three movies later, actually, she is forced to go home. Prompted by a reminder message from her mother that they have a dinner to go to, and demanding to know whether is Gail planning on turning up, she reluctantly gets ready to leave the cosy little apartment.

Holly decides it is time to leave too.

"I've still got at least six hours of study to do," she moans.

"Six hours?" Gail frowns, yanking on her boots. "Six hours? You are really going to go and do that much study now? Today?"

"Yep," Holly shrugs. "I have to."

"You poor thing," Robbie says, climbing off the bed. "I better get ready, too," he says.

"What for?" Gail asks him.

"Got a thing on tonight," he tells her, pulling clothes out of drawers.

"You're going out again?"

"Yup," he says, cheerful.

"Wow." Gail shakes her head. These people have _way_ more stamina than she does. If she had her way, she'd just get right in back to bed when she gets home.

They leave together, trudging slowly back to Union street together in the gathering dark.

"I actually feel a bit better," Holly says, zipping up her jacket against the late afternoon chill.

"Me too," Gail agrees. Her headache is gone at least, as is the nausea. "I'd still rather not go to this dinner, though. That will still hurt."

"Is this the aunt that fights with your mother all the time?"

Gail smiles at Holly actually remembering that piece of information.

"Or the one that my mother fights with. Depends which week it is. But yep, the very one."

"Good times."

"Oh yeah."

They get to the corner, ready to part ways, looking at each other for moment in a protracted, slightly awkward silence. She wonders for a minute if Holly is going to say something. But she doesn't.

"Well, good luck with your studying," Gail tells her, giving her a bashful grin, and jamming her hands in her pockets. She's glad it's gotten dark, because she can feel herself blushing slightly. It's embarrassing. She _wants_ to be super-cool and nonchalant about last night, one of those chilled girls who does stuff like that like it's nothing, but she is way less adventurous than she will ever let on. And now it is just the two of them, she does feel a _little_ strange. She can't help it. "I hope the six hours is not too painful."

"Same with your family dinner," Holly returns, smiling and mirroring her, thrusting her hands in her jacket pocket. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Sure. Soon," Gail agrees. "Bye."

And Holly gives her a small wave, puts her hand back in her pocket and turns on her heels.

Gail turns too and heads for the bus stop, relieved though, that there is, apparently, no real fallout from last night, and that nothing needs to be said about it, either. Because she'd have no idea what to say.

She climbs onto a bus that will take her part of the way home, taking a seat at the back. She'll call Steve in a minute and make him pick her up from the stop and drive her the rest of the way.

The bus takes off into the traffic and Gail sees Holly striding down the street, faster now she is alone, as it slides past. Holly doesn't see her, though, staring straight ahead into the night, turned back in on herself now she is alone.

Gail turns to look forward and smiles, feeling pretty damn pleased with herself. She's not sure she's ever had such an enjoyable hangover as today. They are not supposed to be fun. They are _supposed_ to the punishment for fun. But today was actually surprising, out-of-left-field good.

And she had a great time last night, too— what she remembers of it at least. It was a dumb party, but she got to dance her ass off. She _didn't _accidentally sleep with the random dude with the guitar, hot and oddly nice as he was. And she promised herself a while back, after those post-Brendan mistakes, that she would try and make only sober, or at last near-sober decisions in that department from now on. Hell, she might even answer his call if he does ring. Maybe. _And_ she made out with a girl, something new for the history books, with the bonus prize of no one being too weird about it. And it was also kind of ridiculously fun, those hours on the armchair with Holly, laughing like maniacs in their own private world. Yep, last night was needed.

And she has two kind of awesome new friends who want to spend a hangover with her.

Not bad at all, she thinks.

Now she just has to get through dinner and she's home free.

**Well, I'm still having fun writing this (seriously, _so_ much). So I really hope you are still having fun reading it!**


	9. Chapter 9

I

Gail likes being in the bar before it opens. It's quiet, and it's all hers.

She's never had to open up the place by herself before, but Andrew asked her to do it so he could go to a traders meeting or something. Thinking of her sad little pile of savings, and of the fact that doing this meant that she would be able to cut short yet another high-strung, tetchy meeting with her French group, she immediately said yes. Now she is finding she is actually vaguely enjoying it. It's nice to have a bit of peace and hush to ease into the night before the customers come in, before the music and the TV goes on, before the chaos ensues. She can just set up the bar the way she likes it, count the till and dream in the hushed, expectant silence for an hour.

That is, she was doing that until she hears the sound of the heavy front door being pushed open, the noisy clamour of traffic from the street streaming in, breaking the peace inside the bar.

"We're not open," Gail calls out, wiping down the booth tables.

"It's me."

It sounds like Nina. Gail spins around quickly. It is, indeed, Nina. She is standing there in the middle of the room, her hands adrift at her sides.

Gail freezes, cloth in hand, feeling an ever-so-slight, queasy jolt of nerves in her stomach. She was _not_ expecting to see her tonight. In fact, Gail already checked the roster carefully, wondering when they'd finally have to meet. And they aren't supposed to be working together until Saturday night. She thought she had a bit of time to prepare for this meeting

But here she is.

Her hair is black now. It's not as good as the red. It makes her look washed out— kind of tired and pale. But maybe she just _is_ kind of washed out and tired and pale today, Gail thinks, taking in the redness around her eyes and the way her hair is just kind of hanging around her shoulders. Nina _never_ just lets her hair hang.

"Hey," Gail mutters, making her way back to the safety of the bar, not sure what is about to happen.

"Hey," is all Nina says in return, turning around and following her to the bar. She climbs up onto a stool, sits down and rests her arms on the wooden surface.

"I didn't think you were working tonight," Gail says quietly, flicking on the switch of the glass washer and throwing the cloth in the sink.

"I'm not," Nina scrunches down over the bar and rests her chin on her arms. "I came to see you."

Gail stalks over and leans on the back section of bar, opposite Nina. She chews on her lip, wondering what is about to pass.

"Why?" she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

Nina frowns wearily at the bar before looking up at her. She rests her cheek on her hand and takes a deep breath.

"Gail, I am so, so sorry about what happened." she says, contrite, shaking her head. "I was such a bitch to you."

Feeling a small surge of relief that this is turning out to be the best-case scenario, and not Nina come here to accuse again or to tell her why she is awful, Gail nods her acknowledgement— _and_ her agreement.

But just because she is relieved doesn't mean she is just going to let this go, though. She does have _some_ dignity.

"So why exactly are you sorry _now_?" she asks, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms.

Nina just looks at her for a minute with her wide blue eyes, squeezing her lips together and taking in a deep breath through her nose. Then she speaks.

"For a few reasons, but mostly because I realise I was a complete asshole for going crazy at you, and then not talking to you or listening to you when you tried to explain and I know that now."

"Well that's true," Gail nods. Nina ignored all her calls and even the message she finally left last week, an attempt to explain her side of what happened before they met again.

"And because my mother and both my older sisters told me I was being a seriously shitty friend for treating you like that— _and_ for just assuming what happened was your fault." Nina frowns into her hands. "Actually, my sister told me I was the worst kind of feminist alive for doing that."

"Well," Gail sighs, thinking of her mother and her grand, sweeping demonization of all women the other day. "There's got to be worse. But yes, it _was_ extremely shitty of you."

"And also …" Nina pauses, rubbing her chin against her arm and staring at the scratched bar surface. "I kind of know for a fact Josh is a cheating asshole now."

"Ah," Gail tips back her head, rolling her eyes. "So that's it." She sighs loudly. "So, how did you find out?" she asks.

Nina takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "When I got home from my trip, I might have done a bit of snooping," she says. "On my sister's recommendation."

"And?"

"I found some text messages," she sighs, blinking. "Some girl in his course. And some other _random_ as well, a picture of them together in a fucking photo in his phone."

"Oh," is all Gail can think to say. What a freaking stupid idiot this guy is, she thinks. Doesn't even know how to cover his tracks.

"So I might have thrown a chair at him," Nina say, resting her chin on her arm.

"You threw a chair?"

Nina nods, confirming. "I threw two chairs, actually."

Gail almost wants to laugh at the vision of short-ass Nina throwing furniture at brutish Josh. But she doesn't, because she can see the tears gathering in Nina's eyes.

She shakes her head. How is it that Nina has never suspected anything? How is it that she manages to be so naïve sometimes?

It's so strange that she can be this clueless about this stuff, because there are so many ways that Nina is so much worldlier than her. Although there is barely a year between them in age, it always feels like Nina has had so much more experience in life. Leaving home the minute she finished high school and moving to another distant city made her an adult fast. She knows about grown-up crap, like having her own place, paying rent and bills, how to make her pay last the whole fortnight because she has to. And she knows other things too, like her way around downtown and about the clubs and bars and the people who populate them. Most of the time Gail is just following her footsteps. It is Nina who has opened her world up a little these past few months they've been working together.

Yet in this other way, when it comes to people and their behaviour, she seems to kind of retain this bizarre innocence. And the more Gail knows her, the more she realises it is mostly because Nina seems to desperately want to think the best of people— and has zero instinct for when they are not. It must be that hippy upbringing, she thinks. Then, when they don't act as she expects, it hits her even harder than it would for people like Gail, who is already prepared— a little, at least— for people to disappoint her. It also maybe explains why Nina goes so crazy (and apparently violent) when she thinks her vision of them is ruined, like she did with both Gail and Josh. Nina was so angry Gail's wondering if she should consider herself lucky she didn't get any furniture thrown at her head that terrible drunken night.

Gail watches her friend unsuccessfully blink back more tears, feeling sorrier and sorrier for her. She slowly unfolds her arms and turns and pulls down a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She pours them a slug each and turns and hands one to Nina.

Nina smiles her thanks, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. They silently push their glasses together and drink. Gail immediately takes them back and quickly washes them under the tap. She is not sure what Andrew would do if he came back and found her drinking her knock-off before she even starts work. Medicinal purposes, she'd probably tell him. And if he saw Nina right now, he'd probably agree.

Nina sniffs loudly, wiping her face again.

"It's like I kind of knew, but I didn't want to know," she suddenly says, shaking her head, a streak of mascara now smeared under her eye. "Which is why I blamed you. Because I really, really didn't want it to be the other way." She takes a deep breath. "But I think I already subconsciously knew it was."

Gail just kind of nods again. What is she supposed to say to that?

But still, she feels kind of terrible for Nina. She does. Gail, of all people knows how it feels to be in this kind of position. But she also doesn't ever want to be treated like that again, either.

And maybe, if things had gone a little differently, maybe Gail wouldn't be quite as ready to forgive Nina so quickly, but she is.

One reason why she is ready to put this behind them— other than the self-serving fact she simply wants her friend back— is the fact that she is harbouring some of her own guilt for not telling Nina about Josh earlier. She knows now that she _should_ have said something after that extremely awkward night when he pulled the confessional/come-on at the apartment and she'd bolted in the morning.

Maybe in a sense they are _kind of_ even in the betrayal stakes. Maybe if Gail had told her already about that earlier incident, she could have saved them both a lot of pain and time and trouble. Or at least a little.

But she didn't. And for that reason her dignity is more than prepared to forgive Nina's show of disloyalty. Because Gail knows that this is one time where she hasn't kept to her _own_ rule of loyalty in everything, either

So she slowly steps over and leans on the bar in front of Nina, looking her friend straight in the eye.

"Never, ever do that again, okay?" she tells her, frowning.

"Never," Nina shakes her head, eyes wide, sniffing.

"I don't do things like that." Gail tells her, shaking her head, still staring at her. "Not to my friends. Not even to girls I don't like."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Nina says, tearing up again.

"And Neens?" Gail pulls a napkin from the pile next to the mixers and passes it to her

"Yeah?" Nina sighs, taking the napkin and blowing her nose loudly.

"You have _got_ to pick better guys." Gail sighs. "Maybe I shouldn't have waited so long to tell you this, but Josh is a giant, _giant_ douche."

Nina nods, starting to cry again.

Gail feels a squeeze of guilt at making her feel worse.

"And you can do so, so much better, you know," she tells her, reaching over and squeezing her arm, earnest.

Nina just nods.

"I am so sorry, Gail" she says again, sniffing loudly. "I was horrible to you."

"Yeah you were," Gail agrees, grabbing another glass and pouring Nina another shot. She clearly needs it. She puts it down in front of her. "But I'm over talking about it. What I want to know is, did you kick him out?"

"Uh huh," Nina nods. Then she takes a small sip of her shot and giggles. "He's had to move in with his mom. His nagging, crazy, never-leaves-him-alone-for-a-second-mother."

Gail smiles and returns to her work as Nina talks, pulling out racks of glasses from the shelf and stacking them up on the bar

"Oh well, karma's a complete bitch like that." Gail says cheerfully, hoping his mother is at least half as annoying as hers.

She can't help it. She likes the thought of him suffering.

* * *

II

Robbie brings the new guy he is seeing to the park to eat lunch with them.

Eli is short and slender with curly black hair. He speaks eloquently but slowly, like he's got all the time in the world to tell a story.

And he brought Timbits, so he's popular.

They are lying around on the grass, eating and talking about break-ups— their backward-assed way of comforting Nina. Gail can totally see the flaws in this method, but still, it's pretty entertaining.

"I broke up with someone via text message once," Eli offers. "Classic asshole act. Couldn't face the real thing."

"Don't do that to me," Robbie warns him. "I'll be pissed."

"I promise I'll tell you in person when I've had enough of you." Eli laughs, patting his leg.

Gail grins. She's glad Robbie's found a guy who's going to pay out on him a little. He deserves it. Scratch that. He _needs_ it.

"Yeah, I may have once just completely stopped responding to phone calls and messages because I didn't know what to say and he was too intense," Robbie tells them, frowning. "I was like, 'if he's just like this regularly, what's he going to be like in a break up scenario?' So I dodged it," he shrugs.

"You're such a wimp," Gail tells him.

"I know," he shrugs, like he knows but doesn't care. "What about you?" he asks her. "How'd your last break up go? Oh God," he laughs, shaking his head. "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of your rage."

"I believe it went something along the lines of a simple 'go fuck yourself'," Gail shrugs. "I can't really remember."

Robbie just laughs and nods, like that is exactly what he was expecting from her.

She _can_ remember, though. Vividly. And that is exactly what she said. And she remembers his face exactly as she said those words, that look in his eyes of hurt mixed with heartbreaking relief, relief that _she_ was the one calling it. She saw the way he relaxed slightly at the reprieve he'd been given— from having to have the balls to do anything about this situation himself. She saw it just seconds before she grabbed her bag and headed for her car without looking back, holding on to the tears until she was in the car and on a freeway back to Toronto. She can remember every single minute. She's just not ready to share the details of that humiliating little scene with anyone. Probably ever.

"I cheated on Josh once," Nina pipes up.

"What?" Gail's whips her head around to face her, mouth open. "When?"

"It was right after we first met. We weren't really an official thing yet. It was dumb. I only kissed the guy, and I felt so guilty I called Josh ten minutes later and told him. Then I never did anything again."

"Well maybe you should have," Gail mutters, checking her watch. "Hey Neen, it's one-thirty," she says. "You told me to tell you."

"Damn. I have to go," Nina sighs loudly. "Josh is coming over to get his stuff in half an hour and then, you know, get the hell out of my life."

"Good plan," Holly tells her, smiling sympathetically.

Nina just picks up her bag and sighs. Gail feels sorry for her. She looks like it is the last thing on earth she wants to do. Fair enough, really. It's the last thing Gail would want to do on this divine day, too. Or any other day, really.

Nina stands up, pulling the bag onto her shoulder and looking down at Gail.

"See you at work in a couple of hours, yeah?"

"Yep," Gail nods, giving her an encouraging smile. "Don't take any crap, okay?" she tells her.

"Hang on," Robbie says suddenly, sitting up on the grass and glancing between Gail and Nina, "You're going on your own?" Then he turns and looks pointedly at Gail.

"Yeah," Nina shrugs.

"You shouldn't have to go by yourself," he says, giving Gail another look.

"Don't look at me like that …" Gail starts to say, starting to defend herself.

"Seriously, don't look at Gail like that, Robbie," Nina, interrupts, rushing to her defence, laughing. "Believe me, if there is one person who is under, like, _zero_ obligation to help me out with this, it's Gail." She nods, vehement. "Trust me, she's put up with enough crap from me— and from that ass hat— lately."

Eli tips his head sideways. "Ass hat?" he repeats, questioningly, looking at Gail.

Gail just shrugs. She has no idea what Nina is talking about. As usual.

"Okay, whatever you say." Robbie tells her, shrugging and holding up his hands. "But do you want _someone_ to come with you? I'll come."

"Would you?" Nina asks, eyes wide. "Really?"

And now, even though she knows it would make it worse if she were there, Gail can't help feeling a bit bad that she is not the one helping her friend.

But if it weren't for this particular situation, Gail probably would have made Nina stay in the park and gone and done this moving out supervision for her. That's what friends do for each other during shitty break ups, don't they? Even Michelle collected the things she'd left up at Waterloo when she and Brendan ended. But Gail is not putting herself anywhere near Josh. Not even for poor Nina.

"Sure, I'll come be moral support slash security guard," Robbie shrugs. Then he turns to Eli. "Want to see what an ass hat looks like in the flesh?"

"I kind of do," Eli nods, scrambling to his feet and dusting off his pants. He smiles down at them. "It was nice to meet you."

Gail just gives him a perfunctory smile and wave.

Robbie gets up too.

"Okay then, I'll see you guys later," he tells them, heading off across the park with Nina and Eli.

"See you," Holly says.

But Gail doesn't say a word to him, not feeling entirely forgiving after that little attempted guilt trip. She calls after Nina instead.

"Remember, he's a GIANT asshole and you can do better!"

Nina turns around and gives her a smile and a wave.

They watch them walk across the park and across the street in silence.

"Robbie doesn't know what happened," Holly tells her quietly, tapping her gently on her wrist. "He wouldn't have said that if he did."

"I know," Gail mutters, looking at her watch again. Well, she knows that _now_. "So, do you have to get going yet?" she asks.

Holly leans over and checks Gail's watch too. She shakes her head. "Not for a bit."

"Awesome. Me either," Gail mutters, rolling over onto her stomach on the grass and sighing. "I could lie here all day."

"Mmhm," Holly nods, mirroring Gail and lying down on the grass next to her.

"Why are guys such pussies sometimes?" Gail muses, still thinking about Josh, and about Eli and Robbie and their break up stories. And Brendan, of course. "Why can't they just end a relationship instead of cheating or avoiding. Why are they are too freaking scared to just _say_ something?"

Holly doesn't say anything for a minute.

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's gender-specific," she suddenly says.

"Well, I don't know any girls who do stuff like that." Gail tells her, running her hands through the cool green grass and frowning.

"Yeah you do."

"What? Gail turns her head to look at her. "You?" she asks, surprised.

Holly nods slowly, staring out across the grass.

"Which one?" Gail asks, instantly curious. "Did you cheat or did you avoid?"

"That depends. Both" Holly says, resting her chin on her arm. "Is it actually cheating if they are there when it happens?"

"Um, A, I don't know. And B, _what_? What did you do, exactly?" Gail asks.

Holly shrugs. "Only the shittiest thing I have ever done," she sighs. "A couple of years ago I got really, really drunk and kissed another guy at a party." She chews her lips for a moment. "While my boyfriend was right there."

"Whoa," Gail says, before she can stop herself. But she's a little shocked. "And here I was thinking you were just too darn good to have a terrible break-up story." she says, shaking her head. "I'm assuming, of course, it ended in a break up?"

"And _how_." Holly nods. "The worst part is, though, that it was kind of like what you just said." She folds her arms in front of her on the grass and drops down to rest her cheek on her arm. "I think I just wanted to break up with him, and I didn't know how else to do it at the time. Then, while ridiculously drunk, I found a way."

She shakes her head and shuts her eyes for a moment, her chin still on her arm. Then, finally she lifts her head and plays with the strap of her bag for a while, frowning and Gail just watches her because she's not entirely sure what to say.

Then Holly says quietly, "So now I bet you think I'm an asshole."

"No, I don't," Gail tells her quickly.

She doesn't really know what to think. She is, she'll admit— to herself— a little thrown by this information about Holly.

Then maybe she's been a little bit unrealistic about Holly. For some reason, Gail realises, she's had her pegged as this kind of person who does no wrong. She can't be, though. No one is. But just because she's so great, and smart and insightful, doesn't mean she is perfect, either. Besides, it's kind of looking like Holly might be a bit of a hot mess when she gets drunk at parties, going on this story _and _experience.

She looks over at her. Holly is still staring at the grass, playing with the straps of her bag and frowning.

"Anyway," Gail sighs, thinking she should at least try and cheer her up. "Who am I to judge? I may never have cheated," she shrugs. "But I've definitely been an asshole _plenty_ of times." she says lightly.

Holly gives her a half-smile, but doesn't say anything.

"You know what I did once?" Gail says.

"What?" Holly asks, looking up and squinting into the sun at her.

Gail bites her lip for a moment, debating telling this Holly this sorry, ancient little story. Then she decides just to dive in. Even if it probably not exactly going to comfort her, at least it will distract her.

"It was, ages ago and I am _still_ deeply ashamed," she laughs, rolling over on to her back, not quite believing she is about to tell this tale. "So, I was like twelve, maybe thirteen. No, twelve," she decides. "It was grade six."

Holly lets out a kind of snorting laugh and reaches over and pokes her in the side.

"Hang on a minute. Your 'Gail is an asshole' story happened at age twelve? And it's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Just shut up, Holly, and listen," Gail tells her, reaching over and putting her hand over her face to stop her. Holly just laughs into her hand.

Gail goes on.

"So, you know how when you get to that age and the social pecking order at school is like everything, right?" she says. "And then when that's established, there's the amateur, pre-pubescent dating stage? You know, when you first start going out with each other, but you like barely touch each other or even talk to each other? And your relationships last, like anywhere from a few days to three weeks, tops— and that's practically like you were married?"

Holly laughs. "Oh yeah, I remember that," she nods.

"So, there was this kid in my class. Tom. He was an idiot. Well, at school he was an idiot." she adds. "Out of school, we were _kind of_ secretly friends- on the holidays, anyway. I never talked to him much at school but he lived on my street and from when we were about ten we'd hang out in the holidays when we were bored. He had these really crappy parents who ignored him all the time. Or his dad yelled at him all the time. Nothing in between." Gail sighs, remembering the impossibly tall, overly strict man who'd come out onto his front porch and scream for Tom to come into the house whenever he felt like bawling him out over any tiny thing.

"So anyway, at school he was like this total attention seeker. Completely hyper." Gail rolls her eyes, remembering those classroom episodes when the usually tolerant Ms. Clayton would lose her patience and yell at him to get back in his box when he got going. "He was always talking, always interrupting the teachers and bugging everyone." she turns to Holly. "You know that kind of kid?"

"Yup, I do," Holly nods. "Go on."

"But out of school, when it was just one-on-one, he was kind of sweet and chilled and we'd do totally geeky stuff together like sit in my backyard and make up really long stories about what we'd do if we got to explore the whole world. Totally nerdy. You'd have loved it."

"Shut up," Holly says dutifully and smiles. "And get on with it".

"Anyway, it seems at some point in grade six he'd developed a crush because one day he caught up with me on the way to school and, like, out of the blue, he asked me if I would go out with him." She hangs air quotes around go out and starts giggling, remembering that awful, awkward morning, the look on his face when he'd asked, and her own answering shock.

"And?" Holly asks, grinning. "Don't leave me hanging."

"I was so stunned I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to say yes. The only boy I wanted to go out with at that point was Nick Dimas. But I didn't want to hurt Tom's feelings, and I had no idea how to say no, so I said yes." Gail giggles and shakes her head. "It's like, if I had been at school, surrounded by my friends, I'd never have agreed. But because he got me on my own, I couldn't. He really was this sweet kid."

"Oh, he must have felt like a real Romeo, landing _you_," Holly teases.

"Shut up, Holly," Gail tells her. "Do you want to hear the rest or not?"

"I really, surprisingly do," Holly grins. "I'm still waiting for the asshole part."

"Oh, it's coming," Gail warns her, laughing. "So I get to school and we go on this field trip thing to this eco park, or something. And while we are there, learning how to recycle or whatever, I, still shocked by my own stupidity, stupidly tell one of my friends, Claire, about it. Of course she tells our other friend, Hayley, because Claire was a big mouth. And Hayley is all shocked and horrified and like 'you can't go out with him! It's social suicide etc etc'." Gail shakes her head. "Social suicide in grade six? Sad really. But true. So," she goes on. "Me, being a totally weak and self-conscious little pre-pubescent brat does not stick up for him, or myself. Instead, trying to save face, I assure them all mean girl style, 'Oh don't worry, I only did it so I could dump him later', which was so not true. I just didn't want to explain what really happened."

"Oh dear," Holly says.

"I know, right?" Gail says. "It gets worse. So Hayley _demands_ to know when I am going to break it off— probably scared my giant faux pas would have some effect on her social standings. And because we have all been split off into groups and Tom's in a different one, I tell them I will do it when we are all back on the bus at two-thirty. Oh God." Gail puts her face in her hands. She hates the next part.

"Don't stop now," Holly tells her, yanking on her sleeve. "What happened on the bus?"

Gail takes a deep breath and lifts her head, continuing the story. "So, of course those two told the entire class that I was going to break up with him at two thirty." she shakes her head. "Then, the next thing I know, we're all piled on the school bus. He's sitting right behind us, and I am looking at my watch, trying to figure out a way to discreetly break it off with him. Then," she takes a breath. "It turns out I didn't need to."

"Why … not?" Holy asks slowly, looking suitably wary.

"Because at two thirty, Holly, practically the entire bus— everyone except the teachers and the driver, basically— turns around and screams 'Tommy, you're dumped!' at him."

Gail cringes, waiting for it.

"Oh my God," Holly says, clapping her hand over her open mouth. She shakes her head. "That poor, poor kid."

"I know," Gail tells her, shaking her head violently and burying her face in her arms, half-giggling, and half still horrified by the whole thing. "It was _horrible_, Holly."

"What did he do?" Holly gasps, eyes still wide.

"He tried to laugh and stuff, like it was all a joke, but he looked _so_ upset."

"Of course he did," Holly says. "I would have been mortified."

"I felt so, so bad about it," Gail tells her, giving her a bashful smile and shaking her head. "I went home and cried," she admits.

"You did _not_."

"Yes I _did_," Gail tells her, blushing, remembering sitting in her room, weeping, wanting to kill her friends and trying to figure out a way to never, ever have to face Tom again.

Holly says rests chin in her hand and grins, like she's got her caught. "You're a secret softie, aren't you, Gail Peck?"

"And the worse part is," Gail adds, ignoring Holly's comment. "He was _still my friend_ after that. He'd still come over and hang out, until we went to different high schools." She shakes her head. "I never understood that."

"Boys are suckers for pretty girls, enough to forgive the most terrible crimes." Holly shrugs. "Fact of life. The fact that you are still so ashamed about it is kind of cute though," she laughs.

Gail rolls her eyes and sighs. "Kids are _so_ mean," she says. "_I_ was so mean." Then she turns to Holly. "There. Feel better now?"

"Maybe," she says, smiling. "You know, it wasn't exactly your fault, though. Those little witches you were friends with had a lot to do with it. They were bigger assholes than you were, getting a bus full of kids to do that."

Gail shrugs. She hasn't seen those girls for a thousand years. Not since she went to a different high school.

"And it _was_ long time ago."

"Yeah, well you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, either," she tells Holly. "About something you did at a party— how long ago was it?" she asks.

"Two or three years." Holly frowns.

"See? And you still feel terrible about it," Gail tells her. "That speaks pretty well of you. You just did something dumb. And I bet you never do it again." She rolls back over on to her stomach, folding her arms in front of her on the grass. "So, I'd say you're not a total asshole. Maybe just … a recovering asshole."

Holly smiles over at her, squinting a little.

"At the risk of sounding kind of Hallmark and mushy right now, how do you always know what to say to make me feel better? In a really insane kind of way?"

"I don't know," Gail smiles, feeling suddenly shy. She rests her chin on her hands. "Because I'm a genius?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Holly smiles at her. "Sorry, I forgot for a second."

"I am, though, starting to think maybe you shouldn't get so drunk at parties." She grins at Holly. "You kind of do crazy things."

Holly just looks at her for a second, and then clearly registers what she's talking about. Then she just shrugs and gives her a quick, shruggy smile.

"Yeah, maybe," she says, getting up and picking up her bag. "Come on. We better go."

* * *

III

They are making their way back to uni when she sees him.

Somehow, she has never managed to see her brother at work. Of course, she glances into every police car she sees go past, in case it is Steve. It is kind of automatic. But it is never him. It's always some other uniform, often from his division, but not him.

But all of a freaking sudden here he is, standing outside a grocery store in full uniform with one of his rookie buddies, sipping on a take-out coffee.

"There's my idiot brother," she says to Holly, pointing up the street. She grins and walks a little faster, Holly matching the pace beside her.

He turns in their direction just as they get closer. He spots her and opens his mouth in mock shock as she approaches, holding out his arms, pretending he wants to go for the 'long lost sister' embrace.

She walks straight up to him, slapping his jaw shut instead.

"Shouldn't you be busy catching criminals or something?" she asks, grinning at him. "Hello."

"Nope," says Vito, his rookie buddy, giving Gail the automatic sleazy up-and-down the way he always does. And then he does the same to Holly.

"Hi. No, smart ass, we're on a break." Steve says to her, before turning to Holly. "Hello," he says to her in his best friendly 'who the hell are you?' voice.

"Steve this is my friend Holly. Holly this is Steve." Gail waves her hand between them.

"Ahem," Vito says loudly, leaning up against the window of the store and folding his arms over his chest.

"And that's Vito," she says grudgingly because Holly, like Gail, could probably live very easily for the rest of her life without knowing him.

"Hi," Steve says, holding out his hand to Holly. "I'd say I've heard lots about you, but I haven't heard a thing. I'm Steve, the brother."

"Holly, the friend." she laughs, shaking his hand and then putting her hands in her pockets. "Gail probably didn't want to bore you," she shrugs, grinning.

"Oh, I bet you're not boring," Vito drops in, still staring at her. Gail flashes him a filthy look.

"So, are you studying French as well?" Steve asks her.

Holly shakes her head. "No, I'm doing pre-med, actually. Same school, though."

"Whoa," he raises his eyebrows and looks over at Gail. "What are you doing hanging out with a beatnik like my sister, then?"

"Shut up, Steve." Gail crosses her arms. He can be such a dick sometimes.

Holly just grins at him and turns and grasps her arm. "Hey, listen, I have to get going. I've got to meet some people in the library. I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah, see you later," Gail nods, kind of relieved.

Holly turns to Steve. "It was really great to meet you," she says. "See you around." She even extends the smile to Vito.

Gail gives her a wave as she turns and takes off down the street. How does Holly manage to be so polite to people— even to idiots like Vito? Even though Gail knows Holly probably thinks he's a dick, too? Somewhere along the line someone taught Holly some social skills no one remembered to teach Gail, clearly. Because Gail has no threshold when it comes to this stuff.

Steve turns and watches Holly walk back down the street towards the university.

"She seems nice," he muses. "Cute, too."

"Uh _yeah_," Vito says. "Kinda hot."

Before she can tell them to quit being creeps, Vito starts in on her with the usual come-on shtick he pulls every single time they cross paths.

"So, Gail, when are you going to come and have a drink with us at the Penny one night?" he asks, folding his arms and giving her a grin. "You never know, you might learn to like me after a few pints."

"It's going to take _way _more than a few pints," she throws back.

She shakes her head. Three years of failing to get anywhere with her and he still hasn't figured out he doesn't have a chance in hell.

Steve just grins. He never tries to stop Vito when he starts in on this crap. Gail is pretty sure it's mostly because he knows she can handle herself. And she is also pretty sure he finds her rebuffs kind of entertaining.

"Don't be like that," Vito tells her, grinning.

She folds her arms and tips her head to the side, considering him. "Do you know who you remind me of?" she asks him.

"Who?" he asks, stepping in closer to her. "Brad Pitt?"

She takes a step back, folding her arms over her chest.

"You remind me of that dick guy character who is in like every single teen film. You know the douche who is always friends with the guy lead?"

He just looks at her like he has no idea what she is talking about.

"Oh come on," she scoffs. "You know the one? The one who tries to crack onto everything that moves and always epically fails because he is a creeper and has no social gauge at all? And yet," she muses, tipping her head and continuing to stare at him. "He doesn't seem to notice that he never succeeds."

Now he is starting to look like he does know what she is talking about, his face stiffening with growing consciousness of the insult.

She just shakes her head and holds her hands up. "Dude, some advice: learn some subtlety. Coming from a girl who has refused your gross advances a gazillion times over the last two or three years that I have had the deep misfortune of knowing you, trust me," she nods. "Subtlety might work for you. Not with me, of course," she adds hurriedly. "But maybe with some poor misguided soul."

And she's done.

And Vito just stands there, his mouth open now.

And Steve is laughing so hard he is doubled over.

She takes a step back, pointing at Vito. "And you know, I don't know what's more terrifying right now, how much you are like that guy, or the fact that I just cast my brother as the male lead in this scenario, which is horrifying. So, in answer to your question, I won't be coming to your skeezy cop bar for a drink, _ever_."

She turns to Steve, who is still laughing, his face currently doing a wicked imitation of his hair, and points at him. "And Steve," she snaps. "Do _not_ ogle my friends. It's seriously creepy."

And with that, she leaves them there on the footpath and heads back to school.

IV

Later, during a less than enthralling lecture, she slips her phone out of her pocket.

There are two messages.

One from Steve:

_Epic takedown. Vito did 't say a word for thirty whole minutes. _

And another from Robbie:

_N just told me what happened. I'm sorry. I'm an evil prick. Forgive me._

She quickly types out her response, smiling.

_Yep. Yr an asshole. xo_

Asshole. Theme of the day, she realises.

**Thanks for reading, and for your feedback.**

**To be continued ... of course **

**(this story may well take, well ... forever, the way it's going). **


	10. Chapter 10

**I**

Her lungs are suddenly rendered capable of only the most shallow of breaths.

And if her mother's hand was not pressed lightly to the small of her back as she stands in the doorway to the room, Gail is not sure she'd be able to maintain a grip on exactly how standing works.

"They said it's not as bad as it looks, sweetheart," her mother tells her as Gail takes in the sight of her brother, currently looking more machine than man. From where she stands there are at least three different tubes exiting his body— departing from places that previously used to work just fine without them, thank you, including the one pushing oxygen into and out of his lungs with terrifyingly robotic regularity.

"Well it looks pretty fucking bad to me," Gail tells them, thrusting her hands in her pockets and just trying to focus on the task at hand: standing and breathing.

"Gail," her father says quietly, a warning.

"What?" she snaps.

Her father doesn't respond.

The woman in a white coat who is currently standing over her brother, doing something with a tube that is snaking out from under the white sheet and down the other side of the bed doesn't even react. She's probably used to people's reaction to seeing their loved ones suddenly turned from human to carnage before their eyes. She just finishes what she is doing, makes a note on a clipboard and exits the room, giving them a small sympathetic smile as she passes.

Gail steps forward, at the prompting of her mother's hand, and continues to take in the sight of her brother. His chin is pushed upward and his arm stretched out at an odd angle from his body, making him look like he has been flung against the bed and left there.

There is a bandage covering most of his left shoulder, too, a crust of dried blood gathered already at its edges. She can see a deep graze near the line of his jaw, too. She wonders how much more damage there is under the covers where she cannot see.

"I'll be right back, honey. I'm just going to talk with the nurses," Elaine says.

She hears her mother stride away, and the hand on Gail's back is suddenly absent. Abandoned by its psychological role in keeping her upright, she fights the urge to fall backwards.

And now she is adrift in the middle of the room, a metre or so from her brother, floating in this panicked, head spinning little vortex where everything that _was_ this morning, when she had coffee with Steve in a shitty little café near the division before his shift started, _isn't_.

How does that happen?

Her eyes still fixed on her brother; she takes a step toward a chair sitting against the wall of the cubicle. She needs it in lieu of her legs, which have become suddenly shockingly unreliable in their task of keeping her upright.

There is just a light cotton sheet covering his body, as if whatever is happening underneath can only bear the lightest weight of touches upon it. His head is tipped backward slightly on the mattress, eyes jammed closed. The ventilator doing his breathing for him looks like it is pinning him down, an aggressively benevolent form of life-sustenance.

Still trying to find her way back into the habit of regular old human breathing, she fixes her eyes back on the calming familiarity Steve's hair, the one part of him untouched by injury, machine or bedding, focussing on her mothers words of minutes ago. _It's not as bad as it looks_, she reminds herself.

"He is an induced coma," her father tells her quietly. "That's why he is on the machine," he says, coming over and putting a hand on her shoulder. "They'll tell us more in the morning."

Gail nods and tries to swallow, but it is hard. There is too much traction.

It has to be worse than it looks.

A nurse comes in and does something to the drip attached to Steve's arm. He leaves again, ducking around Elaine, who is bustling back in. As Elaine re-enters, Gail walks straight out. It's like an automatic response. She needs a minute, away from the frenetic talk that has come from her mother since she met her in the entrance of the hospital. She needs a minute if she is going to have any chance of taking this in. She needs some air and she needs some silence. He mother has never been able to give her either.

Unsure of where she is going, she follows the nurse leaving Steve's room, back as far as the nurse's station, looking for a corner to hide for a minute and get her breath back.

"How's eleven?" the nurse at the counter says to him.

"He'll live," he says, shrugging and picking up a can of energy drink and slugging it down. "If all of his major organs hold up."

Gail stops in her tracks. Eleven. Who is eleven? Is it Steve?

She swallows hard again and heads straight for the vending machine, her head down. Not knowing what else to do, she buys a bottle of water and takes it straight back to Steve's room, glancing around her, looking for a number that she doesn't want to find.

* * *

**II**

Her parents go home some time in the early hours of the morning.

They have spent their evening relaying what little information they have between the intensive care unit and the waiting room, the place where Steve's workmates and superiors drift in and out in droves, waiting for news.

Gail, unwilling to leave, spends the night in his room, numb, unable to talk to anyone.

How she wishes her mother would shut up, already. She wishes she would stop interrogating every single staff member who comes into the room to minister to Steve. She wishes she would stop making little forays to the nurse's station with the slightest query that passes through her mind, and then coming back and relaying everything she had learned. She wishes she would stop voicing every slight complaint she has, about the running of the hospital, about the smallest slight she felt in a nurse or doctor's attitude, about the state of the freaking paint job.

She just wishes she would stop, period.

Finally, after much consulting with nurses and doctors, they decide it is safe to leave, and to go home and sleep for a few hours. And Gail, relieved at the thought of a reprieve, tells them she will stay with him through the night so they can.

Grateful to now be able to sit with this new shocking fact of her existence— of her brother's existence— in silence, Gail stays glued to her chair in the corner of her brother's cubicle, listening to the steady sounds of beeping and whirring in the ICU, and to the hushed hurry of the night shift at work. In those few hours alone she learns every inch of this room by heart, every shade of colour contained within, every small movement, and every nuance of its clinical, disinfected odour.

She watches, still frozen, as staff march in and out regularly, tending him in all kinds of ways. She always thought hospitals stopped at night, aside from Emergency. But no. Not here. It never stops.

He even has his own nurse, a calm, efficient middle aged, women who, although she looks like she is moving slowly, manages to do an astonishing amount of things throughout the night. Although she is not exactly friendly, she takes a minute to explain to Gail every single thing she is doing to her brother in a concise, reassuring one-line briefing.

"Just to stave off any hospital infections," she explains, sticking a needle quickly into the flesh of his stomach.

"Just checking the wound drain. Large puncture in his leg," she mutters, lifting the narrow pipe with its fluids—fluids of colours Gail did not know could inhabit a human body—with one finger and making a note on the chart.

"We're just taking him for another scan," she announces in the very early hours of the morning, as some staff wheel him in his bed from the room.

And then Gail is left in a small, abruptly empty square of space alone. And now the room, divested of its reason for being here, suddenly makes no sense.

* * *

**III**

Sometime in that in-between time of night and morning, in the grey pre-dawn that she can see making its appearance through the windows in the hall, her parents return.

They wait in the hallway while the doctors are with her brother, doing their morning rounds. Her father pretends to read the paper and her mother stands at the nurses station, asking them every single thing she can think to ask about Steve's night— questions she has already asked Gail twice over. Gail picks at the plastic lid of her coffee cup and wishes she could scream across the room at her mother to shut the hell up, to tell her that nothing she can say or do is going to make Steve better, or make these people any better at making him better.

But she doesn't. She just shuts her eyes and stays as still as she possibly can.

Gail knows she doesn't mean to, and that this is her mother's way of dealing— to micro-manage. But by constantly questioning, nagging, interrogating and bossing means she makes this all about _her_, and not about Steve. And it drives Gail nuts.

Finally, after an hour of waiting, they are introduced to a doctor. Small and fast-talking, he stands there and quickly recites a litany of injuries Steve has managed to collect on his way to the ICU. Gail catches some of them, the lung collapse, a small crack in a vertebrae, trauma to the liver and a kidney, broken elbow, severe puncture wound in thigh, minor brain bleed.

For some reason she hangs over the qualifiers; the 'smalls' and the 'minors' and the 'severes', wondering at their measure, at the difference they make.

"Now we have seen clear scans," he tells them. "We know none of these injuries in of themselves are life-threatening, but the combination of traumas, the question mark over the damage to his organs …" He takes a breath, tapping his pen on his chart. "Well, now it's just a matter of waiting now, letting his body do what healing it can before we decide if surgery is necessary, or know if there is any permanent damage. The most pressing thing right now is that kidney," he says. "The trauma has prohibited some function, and we need to see if this corrects itself. We want him to hang onto it if he can, but we have to wait and see if that is an option."

Gail thinks of the nurse and his comment about organs holding up.

"Is he going to die?" she asks before she can stop herself.

"Gail," Her mother says quickly, that hand making its presence known on her back again as her mother, as ever, tries to play puppet master. Gail bites her lip and steps to the side, evading her touch.

She doesn't care if it's rude to interrupt. She needs to know this now, before she can take in any more of these incomprehensible words from this doctor.

The doctor turns to her and smiles, scratching his neck with his pen.

"Sweetheart, in my profession we have learned never to say anything with utmost certainty until we are of the utmost certainty, but I can tell you this; I feel very, very confident, complications notwithstanding, that your … brother, is it?"

Gail nods.

"That your brother should recover from this. Everything from now is about how well and how quickly we can help him recover."

Gail nods, letting out a breath and feeling the ice in her stomach slowly start to melt. She turns away. That's all she needed to hear. Everything else can wait.

* * *

**IV**

She pushes open the front door of the house, kicks off her shoes and walks in. The house already possesses a look like it's been abandoned, even though her parents were here just last night. It's always had a slightly neglected air anyway: clean and spotless, but untouched. Right now, though, it is downright forlorn.

Gail ignores its neediness and heads straight for the familiar undemanding surroundings of her bedroom. She climbs the stairs wearily and pads down the hall, pushing the door of her room open with her shoulder. It is still a mess from her rush to get ready for work last night. And although it was only last night when she flung these clothes on the bed and the chair, when she accidentally knocked those books off her desk in her rush, when she squirted on that final spray of perfume that she can still smell faintly in the air before dashing out the door, it looks like the scene of something that happened a month ago, already relegated to a shady, half-conjured memory.

She pulls off her jacket and stares blankly at the wall for a long blissful minute. Then she finally recalls herself to her task: sleep. She takes her phone from her pocket and throws the jacket across her chair. Just as she is about to set her alarm to wake her in a few hours, it begins to ring. It's Nina. She stares at the name flashing on the screen but doesn't answer it. She doesn't have the energy to speak. Instead, she waits it out until it goes through to message and sets her alarm.

She sits on the edge of the bed and contemplates removing some clothes. But the thought of figuring how and how much of it to remove is too much and too exhausting right now. Besides it feels too permanent to undress. She needs temporary if she is going to back in there in a few hours and walk back inside in the small nightmare that has been this day and will probably be the next. It's safer here in stasis, she decides. Returning to the world in a couple of hours, as though it is a new day will be too bigger lie— and a shock when everything is the same. Better to stay in the nightmare than to have to go back into it, she decides. Besides, temporary, even in her state of dress, means this is all just a blip on the radar of reality. And that would be nice.

So she crawls under the covers fully dressed and squeezes her eyes shut. Her phone begins to ring again. Sighing heavily, she picks it up and looks at the screen with one eye. It's Holly this time. Nina must have called her. Gail blinks heavily and continues to stare at the name on the screen. She _wants_ to answer it. She really does. Because of anyone right now that she would want to speak to, it is Holly. She wants— needs, even— Holly's easy kindness and her serene warmth in her radius right now. It would feel so good to have it as a salve to this day. But she also knows if she is going to make it through the rest of this day and the next, she can't afford that kind of comfort right now.

Besides, she doesn't know what she'd say, either. And she knows she'll probably cry the minute she hears the slightest hint of sympathy in her voice. And she doesn't want to cry. So instead, she sets her alarm, slips her phone under her pillow and shuts her eyes, trying to beg sleep to come out from behind the wall of caffeine she built over the course of the night. It is slow in coming, though.

They called her at work. That's how she knew something was really wrong.

One minute she was knee-deep in customers, listening to one of Nina's endless, hilarious stories, a fractured narrative taken back up each time they had a moment between drinks orders. It was fun to be working with Nina again. Not just because they are friends again, but it is always nice to have someone on your side in the battle of tending bar, fostering the 'us' against 'them' mentality, having someone with you to face off against those who constantly and not always politely make demands for your attention.

So one minute she is hearing about something monumentally stupid Nina and her sister did while she was away with her family, and then the next Andrew is handing her the phone, a look of fatherly concern of the type she has never, ever seen on his face before.

That's when the feeling started, the cold dread that crawled into her stomach and stayed there. It staked out its claim on her before she even found out who was at the other end of the phone. And then, only minutes later she was in Vito's service car on her way to the hospital, and it was freezing solid in her gut.

* * *

**V**

Another morning, another perfunctory consultation with the doctors.

"We are going to keep him sedated for another twenty-four hours, at least," the doctor, a different doctor, says. "Just to be safe."

They tried to wake her brother again this morning. This is the second day in a row they have lowered the sedation that has been keeping him blissfully unconscious while his body focuses on mending, and trying to bring him back to waking. But on both days Steve struggled _so_ violently as he rose to the surface and greeted this alarming state of consciousness that the doctors, scared he'd do his compromised organs and his wounds more damage, had to hold him down and quickly sedate him again and wait. Tomorrow will be the third attempt.

Gail gives a small exhausted smile at the linoleum floor as she hears this news. How typical of her brother. He's always been hard enough to rouse just from sleep, let alone a good old-fashioned trauma and sedation. He hated— hates— being woken up until he is ready to. Gail used to take particular evil delight in rousing him on school mornings on the occasions she got up before him. Opening the door and yelling at him as loud as she could before ducking and running. And you had to duck and run, if you were successful. And it seems sedation is no different a scenario.

Gail wouldn't mind a bit of sedation herself, right now, frankly. She is so acutely exhausted she can't even remember what it feels like not to be tired. For a place of rest, the hospital is anything but restful. People come and go all day from Steve's room, from the ward. There are the doctors, the nurses, and the aides— even physios. Then there are Steve's friends, her aunt, her mother and father's superiors lying in wait in the waiting room. Even Elana has appeared, a constant manic, questioning presence to form a chorus of sorts with her mother and her aunt.

Gail, jangled with tiredness, spends all of her time with Steve in his room, where only immediate family is allowed. She can barely stand it out there in the waiting room. She can't handle the constant, repetitive enquiries, the efforts at comforting advice or sympathy; the need to _talk_ about this thing that is happening when really, there is nothing to be said.

She goes home to sleep for a few hours at a time, but it is choppy and restless and cut up with dreams that send her back to waking before she is ready.

She yawns into her hand. Now that the doctor has told her what she wants to know, that he will remain unconscious another day, she leaves her parents with him, unable to withstand another round of one of her mother's questions, either. She can get her father to recap in his quieter, succinct way later. Her father _knows_ when brevity is called for.

She wanders back to Steve's room, but the nurses are busying tending wounds she can't tolerate looking at again. It's a world of gross in there. So she turns and leaves the room, avoiding the waiting room with Elana and her questions, and escapes down a short hallway, exiting the sliding doors out of the ICU.

She wanders out of another set of doors, to the covered section outside Emergency. She skirts around from the small crowd of people smoking and generally looking anxious, the way people outside Emergency centres do. She pulls her phone from her pocket and looks at the time. It is 9.14am. Leaning on the wall, well away from the cloud of smoke, she closes her eyes briefly against the stinging daylight.

She opens them, yawning, and begins to check through her messages and missed calls. Nina again. Last night and the night before. Calls from Robbie and Holly too. She should call one of them, she realises. Nina, probably, so she can tell her to tell Andrew what has happened and why she won't be at work. She dials Nina's number.

"Hey," she says as it picks up

"Oh, hi," Nina gasps, as though she was asleep.

"Hey," she says again, slower, giving her a second to wake up.

"Are you okay?" Nina mumbles quickly. "What's going on?"

"My brother's in hospital," Gail tells her slowly, going and sitting on the edge of a metal bench on the edge of the path leading to the doors.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Steve," she mutters.

"What happened?"

"He was in a car accident. Work. Chasing some kid in a stolen car," she says quickly.

"Oh God, is he okay?"

"Kind of. I think so," she sighs, helpless to form a more sense making explanation. "It's kind of bad, though."

"Oh, wow, Gail, I'm really sorry." Nina tells her. "Are you okay?"

"Mhm," is all Gail says, feeling the tears coming. She bites down on her lip for a minute and takes a deep breath through her nose. "Listen," she says hurriedly. "I've got to go back in. Can … can you just tell Andrew for me? That I won't be at work?"

"Of course. And do you need any …"

"Sorry Neen, I have to go back in. Thanks," Gail tells her, before hanging up quickly.

She puts her phone back in her pocket and takes another deep, steadying breath. She swipes her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and looks around her. No one outside Emergency is paying the slightest bit of attention, anyway. They are all too busy with their own traumas, their own dramas.

One guy sitting over on a bench on the other side of the entrance is already crying himself. A small boy is sitting next to him, wide-eyed and terrified. But not because of his crying father, Gail realises. He doesn't seem to have noticed. He is too busy staring at a woman in a hospital gown, smoking furiously, her lighter clasped in her hand as though it could go out any moment. At the side of her partially shaven head is a great, bloodied gash held together by a series of neat but large stitches. Gail can't blame the kid. It's pretty terrifying.

That's her cue to go back inside. She gets up, zipping up her jacket and gives the kid a sympathetic smile as she edges back in the door. But he doesn't even notice.

* * *

**VI**

They manage to wake Steve up on the fourth day.

He is lucid straight away. Well, as lucid as the drugs will allow. But for that first day, though, it seems Gail is the only person able to understand what he is saying. The irritation from his oxygen pump has ravaged his throat, the nurses said, making a mess of his vocal patterns. Temporary, they assured them.

But for some reason, Gail can make sense of him and is able to act as translator, making out words from the raspy, slurring, barely-there whisper in which he first produces words. Must be all those years of listening to his drivel when he came home drunk from nights on the town to watch crappy late night TV with her, she decides, whining about his love life or lack thereof.

She does not just need to play translator to his words, though, it turns out. More alarming, she also has to translate the world back to him; explaining and re-explaining why the hell he has woken up in a hospital bed.

It's the pain relief making him forget, his nurse explains, not his head injury, as Gail had feared at first. Time and time again for that first day and night, she answers the same questions over and over; that he's been in car crash, that Anh, his partner is fine, unscathed, that the kid has died, writing his car off worse than Steve and Anh's was. It's like some terrifying version of Groundhog Day.

It's distressing and exhausting, but she never loses patience. She can't. Because every time he rouses slightly and turns and asks her again, plaintive, what is going on and why he is here she can see the panic in his eyes. And she recognises that look, that feeling of dread that she felt when Andrew passed her the phone four nights ago. Only this is way, way worse— and on repeat— for him.

So every time he asks, she just takes a deep breath and tells him all over again.

* * *

**VII**

On the fifth day they take him to another ward.

Now he is awake and mostly coherent and breathing on his own, the doctors say he no longer needs to be in ICU. He is now in a high-dependence ward, whatever that means, in a room rather than a cubicle, and without his own dedicated nurse.

Their mother and father go back to work, too, leaving Gail with him during the day. She sits in a corner, under the windowsill and studies for exams as he slides in and out of sleep.

They give him his own little remote to administer pain relief.

"I feel like a cyborg, using a remote control to operate … myself," he jokes weakly, the skin on his forehead taut with pain, the rasp still present in his voice.

"How bad is it?" Gail asks, leaning forward.

"It hurts. A lot," is all he says at first.

Gail just pulls her legs up onto the chair with her and frowns. She's not sure she could cope with this much physical pain. She's never hurt herself badly, just a couple of sprains over the years and a broken toe when she was eleven.

"Remember when you broke your toe when we were kids?" Steve says.

Gail nods. "Yeah, I was just thinking about that."

"Well, I am willing to bet it hurts a lot more than that."

Gail shoots him a look. "Yeah, you know, Steve, I think this is one time where we don't need to be competitive okay?"

He chuckles and then groans. "You still have to say I won, though."

Before Gail can say anything, a nurse comes in. He goes over to the bed, and briskly moves around checking on the different tubes and bandages, barely responding to the smile of greeting on Steve's face. He leaves again without saying a word

"Geez," he mutters. "What did Mom do? I've been in here one day and I think they all already hate me."

"She was … Mom," Gail says, grinning, flicking her pen between her fingers. "So she treated them like they were guilty of a crime they hadn't even committed yet."

He lets out a choppy sigh.

"Well, I've got my work cut out for me charming these ones, then. Or no extra jelly for me."

"Yep," she tells him, still grinning "And that was always going to be an uphill battle anyway, with your social skills."

But he doesn't have a comeback. He's sliding suddenly, involuntarily back into sleep again, the way he does, barely awake for an hour at a time.

Gail just opens her book back up and tries to return to her study before he wakes again.

* * *

**VIII**

On the sixth day, she is sitting in the hallway, trying to remember what day it is.

A couple of Steve's friends are in the room with him and, bored of hearing the same conversations and the same platitudes and jokes every time there is a different visitor, she's taken to waiting outside.

She is just figuring out that it is maybe a Tuesday when her parents approach, fresh from a visit with the doctors. They come over and sit on either side of her.

She is immediately wary of this collective approach/assault. This is never good.

"Sweetheart," Elaine says, as her father sits on the seats opposite. He looks exhausted. "We have to leave town tomorrow."

"Leave? Where are you going?" Gail frowns. She wasn't expecting _that_.

"Ottawa," her father says.

"What?" Gail frowns. "Why?"

"Remember that training conference we told you about?"

Gail nods dully. Here we go, she thinks.

"Well it starts tomorrow and your mother and I are running half of it. We left it until the last minute to decide, but we think we are going to have to go," her father says.

Gail takes in a breath and lets it out in a sigh, not sure what she is supposed to say to this. They seem to have already made up their minds.

"If we don't go, eighty would-be police won't be trained properly," Elaine adds.

"Yeah, and God forbid they don't get the benefit of your expertise," Gail shoots back.

Elaine looks as though she is about to tell her off for that, but then she lets out a little sigh, rearranges her face, and leans in closer.

"We thought about cancelling. But sweetie, the doctor says he will be fine now, it's just a process of recovery. And we'll only be a couple of hours away if we are needed quickly."

"Which the doctors assure us we won't," her father adds.

"Besides," Elaine adds, putting a hand on her arm. "You are quite old enough to look after things down here without us."

_Am I_? Gail wonders. This is certainly new information to her.

"We'll call you morning and night," Elaine goes on. "Your aunt will be here, too. And we've asked the doctors to check in with us, so you don't have to worry about anything but being with your brother."

Gail rests her head against the wall, eyes closed. There's no point saying anything, obviously. This is clearly already decided.

"So when do you leave?" she asks.

"In the morning, first thing. We'll come by here first and then go."

Gail shakes her head. A week. That's all they could spare for Steve before going on with their lives.

"What if something happens?" she asks.

"Nothing will happen," Elaine tells her firmly, her hand still pressed on her arm. "And if it does, I am sure you can handle it until we get here. You're an adult now," she tells her, as if Gail needs reminding again.

Gail just sits up, takes another breath, blinking a few times.

Yeah, whatever. Go," Gail says, pulling her arm away and standing up.

She just wants them to shut up and go now, if that's what they are going to do.

* * *

**IX**

On the eighth day she is walking wearily along the bright fluorescent-lit corridor back to the waiting room when she sees them.

At first she thinks she is dreaming, or having some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination. But no, it is the three of them: Robbie, Nina and Holly, walking slowly down the white halls towards her in a flank, looking just like the promise of summer, in jeans and t-shirts and singlets, sunglasses perched on their heads. It must be another one of those late spring gifts of days, where the wind and the lake chill eases enough that you can feel the tang of the sun and the potential of what is to come. And finally you can bare your legs or your shoulders, or even both.

For the first time in days Gail feels an urge, a desire to be out of here, away from the clinical stink and climate-control air of the hospital, to know what it would be like to feel her skin in the unpredictability of real air, to absorb whatever warmth the sun is willing to offer up to her at this time of year. The only daylight she has seen lately has been on the drives back and forth from the hospital and sleep, when she has bothered to go home, and on her brief forays into the cloying, smoky Emergency entrance. That hardly counts.

They spot her straight away, picking up the pace as a bashful, approaching collective of sympathetic smiles. As they get closer Robbie breaks ranks, striding quickly until he is right in front of her, enfolding her in one of his usual relentless, no-choice hugs. It is fiercer than usual.

"Hey," Gail says, dropping her arms back at her sides as he releases her. "What are you guys doing here?" she asks as they gather around her.

"We came to see how you were, dummy," Robbie tells her, squeezing her arm.

"And to bring you a coffee." Holly holds up the take away cup she is holding. "Here," she says, handing it to her and smiling. Gail takes it, grateful.

And to see if you're okay," Nina says. "And if you needed anything?"

"I'm okay," Gail shrugs, not knowing what else to say. "I'm tired."

"You look it," Nina says, as they all step back out of the way of some hurrying nurses. "No offence."

Gail just smiles in weary agreement and sits down in a bank of seats lining the narrow corridor.

Robbie sits down next to her. "How is your brother?" he asks, hand on her knee. Nina sits by her other side.

"He's okay." Gail shrugs. "He's getting his chest tube removed, whatever that means."

Robbie automatically turns to Holly.

"He must have had a lung collapse. So they are taking out the drain they put in here," she points to a spot on her side, on her rib cage.

"What she said," Gail tells them, yawning.

"Gross," Nina says, pulling a face, before turning to Gail, contrite. "Sorry," she says.

"Don't be sorry," she tells her. "It _is_ gross. It's all been gross."

"And I should probably confess I know more about this from movies than school. We haven't got to that stuff yet," Holly frowns. "But is he doing okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Gail shrugs. "He's out of intensive care. So that's good."

"Do you need anything?" Nina asks, folding her arms over her chest, looking awkward. "Clothes, or stuff from school?"

"No, I'm fine." Gail says.

"You don't look fine," Robbie tells her, brushing his finger against her cheek. "I didn't actually think it was possible for you to get more pale," he says, smiling. "But you've out-ghosted yourself."

Gail pushes his hand away, smiling "Thanks, Robbie. No seriously," she says, secretly grateful for the way he never changes. "Thanks a lot."

He just smiles at her, like he knows it's easier for her if he just treats her like normal. And it kind of is.

"Maybe we should go outside?" Holly suggests, looking down the long, white hallway to the sliding doors. "While they're with your brother? It's beautiful out there."

"Good idea," Robbie says, nodding. "It's pretty awful in here."

Without waiting for her to say anything, they stand. Gail almost wants to say no, that she wants to stay here, in case, but part of her can't be bothered protesting. So, silently obedient, she stands too.

They traipse back down the long hallway. Gail stops at the nurse's station, resting her palms on the cool counter. Lorraine, one of the nurses, comes over to her.

"They're still with Steve, sweetheart," she tells her. "Might be a while longer."

"I was just going to go outside for a bit."

"Good." Lorraine says, nodding, picking up a pile of papers on the desk at the counter. She looks over at the others. "Put her in the sunshine for a while, kids. I don't think she's seen much daylight for a while," Lorraine tells them, smiling. She turns back to Gail. "I've got your number, I'll call you if needed."

Gail nods, still reluctant.

"And you won't be needed," she assures her, patting her hand. "So don't worry. Go outside and breath some air, child."

Gail smiles and turns away. She secretly loves Lorraine with her epic hair— hair that Gail is pretty sure hasn't actually changed since the eighties— and her wiry, comforting competence. Steve has managed to chip away at this recent round of nurses, for whom Elaine is thankfully already becoming a distant memory, and they are friendlier now.

They trudge out of the sliding doors and head for the park across the road from the hospital parking lot. When they find a patch off litter and dog crap-free grass, Gail sinks on to it wearily, blinking helplessly into the relentless brightness, and hungrily breathing in the fresh air. Nina immediately takes off her sunglasses and places them on Gail's face. Gail smiles her gratitude and lies back on the grass, absorbing the nourishing warmth of the sun.

They just sit there in sun-stunned silence for a few minutes.

"Did you know they brush your teeth for you when you're unconscious in ICU?" Gail tells them, breaking the quiet and draping her arm over her face to block out the sun.

"Ew," she hears Nina say. "That's weird. What, they just pry open your mouth and brush them?"

Gail shrugs, turning and looking at Nina through half-closed eyes. "Yep. Pretty much. Saw it with my own eyes."

"No, I did not know that, Gail." Robbie says, lying back on the grass. "Thanks for that invaluable piece of information."

"Happy to drop some knowledge on you," Gail tells him. "Anything else you want to know about sedation hygiene routines?"

"Definitely not." Robbie says, laughing. "Do they teach you this stuff at school, Holls?" he asks.

"Not really," she says from somewhere behind Gail. "We're, uh, into things at a more … cellular level right now. I'm pre-med, anyway."

"I don't even know what that means," Nina says.

And Gail just lies there and smiles and listens to the light banter of the other three, glad they are not trying to make her talk about the accident or asking relentless questions about Steve's condition like everyone else who visits who doesn't know what else to say, or doesn't think it appropriate to talk about anything else.

But after a while she forces herself to sit up because she is afraid she is going to fall asleep. She hugs her knees to her chest and tries to focus on what everyone is talking about, but it's hard to concentrate. It doesn't matter, though, she is just grateful they are here, distracting her from the monotonous awfulness of another day of all this.

Then her phone starts to ring and their talk trickles off as she picks it up and checks it. It's just her mother. She doesn't answer it. Instead she puts it down on the grass next to her. When she looks up again, they are all looking at her.

"It's just Mom," she explains. "Probably just to see if they are done. She checks in every five minutes," she sighs. "I'll call her when I get back."

"She's not at the hospital?" Nina asks, frowning.

"No, Mom and Dad are in Ottawa."

"What?" Nina says, frowning. "What are they doing in _Ottawa_?"

"They were scheduled to lead this big police training thing. It started yesterday." Gail says, running her hands through the cool grass. "And they went when Steve got out of ICU, when the doctors said he'd be okay."

"Is anyone else around?" Holly asks.

"Yeah, my aunt comes to see him every night. And his friends, and his psycho sort-of girlfriend come too, when they finish work. And I stay with him in the day. Well," she shrugs. "Now he is out of ICU they are stricter about visiting hours, but I can hang out with him in the mornings and the afternoons." she says, pulling a small clump of grass out of the ground and tying the narrow blades into a knot, "I guess they don't let us hang out with him all the time because he's not going to die now, which is, you know, good." She shrugs and smiles, tossing the grass away.

"So what do you do when you're not with him?" Robbie asks.

"I just go to the cafe or sit and study for exams. No point going home."

She watches some kids run into the playground while their mother, laden with shopping and a pram and a crying baby on her hip, yells at them to slow down.

"So you're staying at home by yourself?" Holly asks, chin in hand, frowning.

"Yeah, but it's fine." Gail shrugs.

She doesn't tell them that she can't sleep at night at the house, by herself. That for the first time in along time she actually wishes her parents were there.

Nina checks her phone and sighs.

"Crap, I have to get to work," she moans, getting up and dusting the back of her jeans. "Sorry, Gail."

"Don't be sorry," Gail frowns. "Why be sorry?"

But Nina just looks like she doesn't know what to say to that, and Gail immediately feels bad.

"Thanks for coming," she says, smiling up at her, trying.

Nina smiles back, grateful. "Andrew's holding your shifts at work, too, okay?"

"Lucky me," Gail rolls her eyes. "Tell him thank you, I think."

"I will," Nina grins.

"I'd better go too," Robbie says. "Will you be okay, babe?" he asks Gail.

"Of course," she nods. "I'll be fine," she tells him, standing up slowly. "Thanks guys, for coming," she says again, not knowing what else to say as they turn back toward the hospital.

"Don't thank us," Robbie tells her, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they trudge slowly back across the parking lot. "Of course we came."

And Gail feels a rush of solace from his words as much as his affection. These people are her friends, she thinks. These people who she has only known such a short time have become her people. She feels an embarrassing prick of tears at the back of her eyelids at this realisation

They walk her back to the doors of the hospital and she goes inside quickly before they can leave her, because she doesn't want to watch them go. She doesn't feel like she can watch them depart, free to walk back into that intoxicating sunshine and to the simpler worries of study break and work or whatever it is Robbie does all day, while she is relegated to her lonesome station in the hallway, waiting for her brother's battered body to heal.

She takes the long passage slowly, keeping to the sides, out of the way of the busy staff moving up and down and between rooms. She checks her watch. There is still an hour and a half until afternoon visiting hours. She lets them know at the nurse's station that she is back and decides to go back to what she already thinks of as her personal corner of the hospital: a little bank of seats tucked away in an alcove at the end of the hall, designed as a little out of the way place for families and friends to wait.

There are very few people around this ward during the day, though, Gail finds, so she has it mostly to herself. Most people come within the realms of evening visiting hours and then leave. There are only a few who, like her, are left with the sole responsibility of caring for someone, or for whom whatever happened to their friend or spouse or family member is serious enough that they cannot bring themselves to leave until they know everything is going to be okay.

As usual, the area is empty, and she sits down cross-legged on a seat, pulling out her book, thinking she should try and study. She opens her book, getting ready to re-read a chapter, but zones out instead, staring at the wall opposite with its colourful but depressing posters about health care and STI checks.

She leans back in her seat and yawns heavily. Her exhaustion still feels like something heavy chained to her, pulling her slowly but interminably downward, making even sitting upright an exhausting exercise. She shuts her eyes slowly.

"Hey."

She jumps and opens them.

It's Holly, standing there with her bag on her shoulder, her sunglasses still perched on her head.

"Hey," Gail blinks, once again wondering if she is seeing things. "What are you still doing here?"

Holly shrugs and drops down in the seat next to her. "I don't know, I thought I'd wait here with you for a bit, at least until you're allowed to see him. It must be kind of horrible hanging out here by yourself."

"It's okay, you don't have to," Gail shakes her head.

"I don't mind," Holly tells her, putting her bag on the seat next to her.

"I'm fine, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you are," Holly agrees, giving her a small smile and settling into her seat anyway. She reaches back and starts tying her hair back into a ponytail.

"Why would anyone want to sit in a hospital if they don't have to?" Gail frowns, not wanting to let on how grateful she actually is for the company.

"Well, I _am_ going to study medicine, remember?" Holly tells her, threading the elastic one more time around her thick hair and shrugging. "Might as well get used to it."

"True,"

She turns and smiles at Gail again. She has gathered a handful of freckles in this sunny weather, it seems, a smattering of brown spots across her nose and cheeks. It suits her.

"And you don't have to talk or anything," she tells Gail. "I know you're really tired."

"I am." Gail admits, blinking heavily.

"Have you been able to sleep?" Holly asks.

"Not really," Gail confesses. She shakes her head. "I can't."

Holly just nods. She reaches into bag and pulls out a huge book. "Well, just rest if you want. I've got plenty to keep me entertained," Holly frowns, lifting the book. "Exams are horrifyingly close."

Gail nods. It's hard to take in the fact she missed the last week of classes and that it is nearly study break already. She hasn't thought too hard about her exams. She's been studying as well as she can when Steve is asleep or between visiting hours. She knows she'll pass. But she's also prepared for the fact she might not do too great. And for the first time in her life, she doesn't care.

Holly flicks open the book, and then pulls out a notepad and rests it on her knee. She replaces her sunglasses with her reading glasses and busies herself with her book.

Gail relaxes; glad Holly doesn't need or expect her to talk. Gail has nothing to say, nothing to tell anyone that isn't about hospitals and wounds and trauma.

She sits back, resting her head against the wall and shuts her eyes, arms hanging at her sides, feeling the relief on her gritty, tired eyeballs, and enjoying the simple solace of having the company of a friend here beside her. The last few days, although surrounded by people, has been a lonely experience.

In fact, the whole week has been just an exercise in trying to hold it together. Now she can relax a little. She takes in a long, deep breath and lets it out in a shaky sigh.

"You okay?" Holly whispers.

Gail just nods. Suddenly scared she is going to cry, she keeps her eyes jammed shut and purses her lips. Holly doesn't say anything, but Gail can feel her looking at her. Then she feels fingers slowly sliding over her own, taking a light hold of her hand. Gail feels a slow-spreading warmth through her body at the sympathy contained in this touch, at the comfort of this reminder that someone is here with her who knows she is maybe only dancing around the edges of being okay, and with whom she might be allowed to be just that. And for that she is incredibly grateful. She squeezes the hand holding her own gently, her way of saying thank you. And Holly simply grasps it a little tighter.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, eyes closed to the inexorable, quiet hospital scurry, tethered to the island of sanity that is Holly, Gail turns and looks at her. Her free hand is busily at work, flitting briskly between writing copious notes and turning the pages of her book. Gail smiles. She could probably use her hand back, but Gail's not yet willing to return it. It is what is keeping her sustained right now.

She sighs another long sigh and rests her head back against the wall.

"Hey Gail?" Holly says quietly.

"What?" she mutters.

"Why don't you lie down?" Holly suggests

She opens her eyes and turns her head. Holly is looking at her, again, frowning.

"Why not just lie down here?" She gestures at the bank of seats, which have been clearly designed without armrests so that worried waiting people can stretch out and rest. "I'll stay here with you and if you fall asleep I'll wake you up when it's time," she says.

Gail starts to shakes her head, but then gives in. All she wants, all she needs, is to shut her eyes for a while.

"Do you promise you'll wake me?" she asks. "At three?"

"I'll wake you," Holly tells her, her brown eyes insistent. "I promise."

"Okay," Gail mutters, letting go of her hand, kicking off her boots, lifting her legs up and beginning to ease herself down across the chairs on her side.

"Here," Holly reaches into her bag and pulls out a sweater, folding it up. She passes it to Gail, smiling. "Pillow."

"Thanks," Gail says, grateful, taking the proffered sweater. She lays it on the chair next to Holly's leg and lowers herself, resting her head on her makeshift pillow. She shuts her eyes and takes a breath, smelling the clean scent of washed clothes, and something else fresh and light, the smell she has already come to associate with Holly. She tucks her hands under her chin and shuts her eyes, feeling the simple security of having someone next to her, safe to let go of consciousness for a while.

**Part Two of this chapter up tomorrow. Apologies the epically long chapter, but I didn't want to break it up. And thanks, as ever, to those who have taken time to review the story.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I**

Gail puts her French textbook back in her bag, looks over at her brother and smiles.

Today is nearly a good day.

Last night Steve's new doctor said that in all likelihood her brother will be going to a regular ward tomorrow, if his scans are as good as they are expecting them to be. And that feels like a step closer to something more than hopeful, to some sort of reality of his being okay again. And with that small but precious nugget of good news in her pocket, Gail was actually able to go home last night and succumb to a short, but deep, deadened sleep.

And now that weariness she has been carrying around has dissipated into a more manageable tiredness, a slow drag that is still very much present but not insistent. Today, she feels just a little bit human again.

She doesn't say goodbye to her brother because she knows Steve is already two-thirds of his way back to sleep, the place where his body and his brain still seem to be enjoying spending most of their time, busy doing the steady work of returning him to health. Instead she stands up quietly and picks up her bag, thinking she'll find somewhere to have something to eat and to study for a while until it is time for visiting hours again.

She pushes the visitor's chair back against the wall and leaves his small room. As she is making her way down the hall her phone begins to vibrate in her pocket. She pulls it out, sighing, expecting her mother again, for what will be the third time today.

It's not. It is Robbie.

"Hey, where are you?" he asks as soon as she picks up.

"At the hospital," she tells him. "Where else?"

"Good," he says. "I'm out the front, near Emergency. Come out."

And before she can ask what he is even doing there at the hospital, he hangs up. Obediently, she heads for the front entrance. She waves at the on-duty nurses as she passes the station and walks down the long corridor and out into the front area.

As soon as she hits the outside air she zips up her jacket al the way to the top. In the spirit of the tempestuous Toronto spring, the sun is out but the wind is whippy and biting today, a stark contrast to the caressing warmth of that dream day a few days ago when her friends came to visit. You can never trust constancy in spring in this city, even this late in the season.

Robbie is sitting on a bench near the entrance, his camera in one hand and his backpack next to him, an obviously handpicked— or hand-thieved— bunch of flowers hanging out of the opening, drooping already. He grins when he sees her and stands up, pulling his bag onto his shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him.

"I've come to take you to lunch," he says, putting his arm through hers. "It's Sunday."

"So?"

"So Sunday is the time for Sunday lunch, Gail. Get with the program."

"Uh, okay then," she tells him. They walk out of the hospital grounds and down the street.

He pulls out his phone and looks at it quickly. "Actually, it's a little early for lunch. Let's get a coffee first," he says, stopping at the crosswalk.

"So, how's your brother?" he asks, as they cross the street together, arms still looped together.

"Better," she tells him. "He might be going into the regular wards tomorrow. They'll know this afternoon."

"Hey, that's really good," Robbie says, giving a little skip and squeezing her arm.

"It is. And they say he is really lucky, that so far there doesn't seem to be any real permanent damage, except he might have some trouble with back pain."

"That's even better." Robbie tells her, bouncing along the street, leading her around a corner and stopping at a little place Gail has never noticed before. He shoves the door open and Gail follows him inside.

They find a table, order coffees and sit.

"So, what have you been doing?" Gail asks him, _so_ ready to hear about something else, _anything_ about the world outside the hospital.

"Freaking out."

"About what?" Gail asks as a guy puts their drinks down in front of them.

"School. Everything. I have to write a stupid essay, and I am terrible at writing essays," he says, rolling his eyes and sipping his coffee. "It's like, I know how I feel about certain ideas, certain art. And I am completely confident in my opinions."

She nods. Of course he is. She wraps her hand around her cup and waits for him to go on.

"But I am just no good at organising it into words on a page, in that way they want you to write them. It just ends up being on big tangle, if you know what I mean?"

Gail nods again. She doesn't have that problem. Essays are easy-ish for her.

"You know, I'm actually okay at writing them," she says. "I could look at it for you, if you want?" She shrugs, shy. "It might help."

"No," he shakes his head and waves the idea away. "You have enough to worry about."

"No, seriously," she insists, wanting to pay back his ardent kindness of late. "I don't know how much help I can be, but I actually, sadly, have a lot of time on my hands at the hospital. I am _actually_ starting to wish my brother would sleep less and talk to me," she laughs. "And, believe me, that is _not_ a feeling I have had often in my life."

He chuckles, grabbing squeezing her wrist. "Well, I might take you up on it." He grabs her wrist. "Thank you," he says, serious for a moment.

She just gives him a smile. "But just so you know, Robbie, there's only so much I can do to polish a turd, though, you know?"

"Oh, shut up," he laughs. "It's not that bad!"

"I know. I'm joking." she tells him. "Okay, what else can I help you with, my friend?"

"Can you prescribe some anti-anxiety medication?" he asks, grinning

"You might need Holly for that," she tells him.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm just freaking out about the end-of-year show, too," he confesses. "And about feedback, which is ..."

"But everyone loved the last exhibition," Gail interjects, putting her cup back down.

"Oh, no, not that kind of feedback." Robbie tells her shaking his head. "That'd be okay. I mean the formal feedback we get from our professors. They examine our final project, the stuff we put in the show."

"Oh," Gail nods, getting it now. "Scary."

"Uh, huh" Robbie agrees, sighing.

"But your stuff is kind of amazing," she tells him. "They'll love it."

"Maybe," is all he says, shrugging. "I'm scared about this bunch of photos. They are some photos I took from last time I went home, of my family and they are, I don't know, they're …" he trails off, like he never knew where that sentence was going.

Gail frowns. "Where _is_ your family?" she asks, realising she knows nothing about them. "In Toronto?"

"Nope," he shakes his head. "I grew up outside Ottawa."

"Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"One of each, but they are ten and twelve years older than me."

"Wow," Gail raises her eyebrows. "How'd that happen?"

"Yeah, I was kind of an accident." He says. "I don't think my parents weren't to impressed, really, having another kid in their forties." he sighs, smiling ruefully, "And they were especially not that impressed when he turned out to be gay."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They didn't kick me out on the streets or anything dramatic like that. But they do refuse to acknowledge it."

"Like, they don't mention it at all?"

"Nope," he shakes his head. "They're kind of religious. And they just don't get it, or me. And they don't get the photography thing. Neither do my brother and sister. One works in a bank, the other is a medical receptionist. They are so completely uninterested in anything other than their kids and their jobs and their mortgages." He shakes his head. "I never ever want to be like that."

"Me either," Gail agrees, picking up a spoon and scraping the last of the froth from her coffee from the sides. Then she looks up at him. "And I'm sorry your family are assholes," she tells him, giving him a sympathetic smile.

He just grins back at her and shrugs. "Thanks. You know. Eli said his ex-boyfriend's actually kicked him out when he came out. I didn't even know that still happened to people," he tells her.

Gail just shakes her head and frowns. She'd have to do something pretty awful for her parents to actually kick her out of their home.

"Anyway," Robbie smiles, "He said if your own family won't be your family, you should just make your own."

Gail nods. Good idea, she thinks. But before she can say so, he grabs her wrist and checks her watch.

"We better get going or we'll be late," he says.

"For what?" she asks, getting up. But he doesn't answer. He is already halfway out the door.

They leave the café, continue up the road, turning down another side street to a narrower, tree-lined strip of old apartment blocks.

"Where exactly are we going for lunch?" Gail asks, frowning. They seem to be getting further away from shops and cafes and any possible lunch spots, and deeper into pure neighbourhood.

"Holly's" Robbie says, letting go of her arm and walking even faster as he crosses the street, walking up to a red brick apartment block.

"What, like, Holly's _house_?" Gail asks, hurrying to catch up with him.

She hasn't seen Holly today, but for the last few days since they all came to visit her and Holly stayed with her while she slept in the waiting room, she's been coming to the hospital, keeping Gail company in the hours when she can't be with Steve.

Sometimes they have studied together in the cafeteria, or gone to the park to sit outside in the sun together. Sometimes they have just sat in the waiting room and talked, or not talked, and Gail has been grateful for the company. It has made the days pass faster, and her less lonely.

"Yup," he says, leading her up some steps. He reaches back and pulls the flowers out of his bag, a ragtag but charming bunch of clashing colours and wide green leaves. He raps loudly on a door and turns to her. "Holly's house."

A tall brunette woman with her hair tied back in a neat bun opens the door. Gail immediately recognises Holly's brown eyes and clear, not-quite-olive skin.

"Hi!" Robbie steps up and gives the woman a kiss on the cheek. Her serious face softens into a smile at his embrace.

"I brought my camera, and these," Robbie passes her the flowers. "And, as instructed, I brought Gail." He turns to Gail. "Gail this is Holly's mom."

"Hello," Gail says, suddenly nervous, wondering why he has been instructed to bring her here. She always gets timid around other people's parents. She can't help thinking they are not going to like her. They usually don't warm up to her. Brendan's parents mostly disapproved of her. And Michelle's only pretended to like her because of her parents, but Gail knows they thought she was some kind of bad influence ever since the two of them got caught coming back to Michelle's house slightly, but obviously drunk after a party in high school.

"Hello Gail. As well as being known as Holly's mom, I'm Tasya." The woman says, clutching the flowers and smiling at her. "Welcome. Come in."

"Uh, thank you." Gail replies, still not sure what is going on. But, following Robbie, she slips past her and into large, light living room. It is a lovely, _alive_ kind of room, where furniture seems to be an afterthought, forced to work around the brimming bookshelves and proliferate leafy indoor plants scattered around it.

It is such a contrast to the sterile beige wash that is Gail's house, where it is always difficult to feel completely comfortable. She likes it here. It looks like you would actually want to sit down and hang out in this room, and not feel like you have to keep it immaculate at all times in case anyone important shows up.

Holly appears through a doorway, in her jeans and work t-shirt.

"Hey," she says, smiling at Gail and then turning to Robbie. "You found her."

"I did," Robbie tells her. "It wasn't too hard."

"I think lunch is close to done," Tasya tells them. "Come into the kitchen when you're ready."

"Okay," Holly tells her mother, before turning back to them. "Sorry for the surprise invite," she tells Gail. "I told my mom and dad about Steve and how you were there by yourself and they told me I had to invite you to come to lunch."

She smiles, apologetic, shrugging as if to say she is slightly embarrassed but she can't help her parents.

"It's okay'" Gail says, shy. "It's … nice."

She waits awkwardly in the living room while Robbie tosses his things on the sofa and Holly changes out of her work clothes. Then they take her into the kitchen, introducing her to Holly's father, Peter, a bearded man in an apron and slacks. He is busily pacing between the stove and chopping salad at a chopping board laid out next to bunch of dishes lining the top of the counter.

They sit at the table, waiting for him to finish what he is doing. Gail doesn't talk much, but just listens to the conversation as it flows easily and ceaselessly around her. It is so jolting to be suddenly removed from the disinfected whiteness of the hospital and the silence of Steve's room, to the patchwork charm of this large, sunny flat. Jarring, but lovely. She just wants to let it wash over her in soothing waves of a new but comfortable normality, before she has to go back.

When he is finished preparing lunch, Peter places dish after dish on the table, fish and vegetables and finally, a delicate, leafy green salad.

"Sometimes we are all too busy to scratch together much during the week," he explains to her, pouring wine into his glass and sitting at the table. "So we always try to eat one good meal on Sunday if we're home."

"So we can remember what we all look like," Tasya smiles.

"And I sometimes get lucky enough to get to be a recipient of such feasts," Robbie says, spooning potatoes onto his plate.

"Thank you for inviting me," Gail tells them shyly.

"You're welcome. I'm sure you need a break from the hospital." Tasya tells her, serving herself some salad. "And probably a break from the food."

"True," Gail says, taking some beans from a dish and thinking of all the crappy stodge she has eaten lately, just because she didn't have the energy to leave the hospital grounds, washed down with endless cans of Diet Coke and terrible hospital coffee.

They drink a glass of wine each, Peter toasting to Steve's newest reprieve. Feeling the warm glow brought on by the wine, Gail blushes at their generosity, at the easy compassion of these people she has only just met.

They ask her about Steve, about how he is recovering, and about Gail and her family. And Gail answers their questions politely. She can tell Holly's parents are concerned and maybe even a little bit disturbed by the fact her parents are not even in town. And part of her agrees. But that other small, defensive part of her, that relentless Peck pride— the loyalty that never will budge, no matter how much they drive her nuts sometimes— wants to defend them or at least excuse their absence. She is tempted to explain how the pressures of their jobs keep them away, and how acquainted they are to these kinds of disasters to the point of treating the as part of life, but she doesn't.

After lunch they stay seated at the table, talking. Once again, Gail is confronted with the contrast to her own family, who never stay at the table longer than it takes to eat, or maybe to finish an argument.

Eventually, Holly begins clearing the dishes. Gail gets up to help her, but Peter tells her to sit.

"Relax," he tells her. "You need it."

"Should we go to the studio?" Robbie asks Tasya.

"Yes," she nods, getting up from the table.

Robbie turns to Gail. "Lunch doesn't come free this week," he explains. "I'm taking some pictures of Tasya's pottery for her."

Gail nods, having only half a clue what he is talking about. She realises though, after their conversation in the café, that Robbie probably also gets as much pleasure from the warmth and kindness of this family, if his own are as distant as they sound.

When the dishes are stacked, and they have drunk a pot of tea to digest, Holly and her father walk Gail back to the hospital. The two of them are on their way to the university. Peter works there, apparently, in the mathematics department, a part of the university Gail has certainly never darkened the door of. Holly is going to the library.

"Will you be okay?" Holly asks her at the entrance to the hospital.

"Of course," Gail tells her. "I'm fine."

"You do say that." Holly smiles. "How long can you stay today?"

"Just a few hours," Gail says. "They close visiting hours at four on Sundays."

Holly nods, reaching out and squeezing her arm. "Okay, well, see you later and call me if you need anything."

"Goodbye, Gail," Peter tells her, leaning in giving her an unexpected kiss on the cheek. "Lovely to meet you. Let us know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," Gail blushes. "Thanks," she tells him, ducking into he hospital, embarrassed by the attention.

* * *

**II**

Later, after a couple of hours of mostly watching Steve sleep and busying herself with preparing what she will say in her oral exam, Gail leaves the hospital, preparing for another long night at home on her own.

When she gets to the nurses station she finds Holly standing there.

Gail frowns, approaching. "What are you doing here again, weirdo?" she asks.

Holly just smiles, bashful, her hands jammed in her jean pockets. "Okay, so this is embarrassing, but Mom rang me and she _made _me come down here and get you on my way home," she says, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"Um, why?" Gail narrows her eyes. "To go where?"

"She says you should stay at our place tonight," Holly shrugs. "I think she's freaked out by the idea of you being at home by yourself."

"I'm fine," Gail insists, pulling her bag higher onto her shoulder.

"I know you are, sort of, but Mom's …" Holly shrugs and sighs, like she can't explain it. "Besides, you know, it _woul_d be easier for you. It's really close and you can just stay with us and come back here tomorrow," she says. "And it will shut Mom up."

Gail bites her lip, wanting to accept, but feeling kind of dumb, too. The though of going home to the empty house again is depressing. And, after that soothing lunch today in that flat with those people, it seems an even more depressing prospect. She glances at Holly, chewing her lip. And she wants to hang out with Holly. She has this way of making her feel … she's not sure what it is, something closer to normal.

She wonders how to say yes without feeling needy and clingy and dumb.

Holly gives her a smile. "Come on," she says. "We can study together."

"Ooh, exciting," Gail teases her, smiling.

"Oh come on, what were you going to do? On a Sunday night? Go clubbing?" Holly grins. "Come on."

"Um, okay, I guess," Gail says, frowning, but feeling a small wave of relief.

"Good, let's go, then," Holly says, decisive, leading the way out of the hospital.

* * *

**III**

Gail lies stretched out at the other end of the bed, her arm under her head, reading her French textbook, still catching up on the chapters she's missed in the last week of classes. Holly is sitting cross-legged against her pillows at the head of the bed, leaned right over her books so she can scribble out notes on the pad next to her.

It's cosy here in Holly's room, with the lamps on and the heating set low as the day's sun makes way for the night time chill. For the first time in a long time, infected by Holly's ferocious studiousness, Gail is actually able to concentrate. Every now and then she looks over at Holly and every time she is greeted with the same sight, Holly's eyes glued to what she is reading or writing, one hand scribbling notes, her glasses making the intrepid journey down her nose until she pushes them back with a finger and flicks over a page. It makes Gail smile. She's so cute and nerdy and utterly focussed. How is it the two of them have managed to become such friends?

They work until well after darkness falls, continuing after the brief dinner break of heated up soup and toast Holly makes for them. Then they study in complete, unbroken silence until Gail's phone begins to ring in her bag.

"Sorry," she mutters, getting up quickly to get answer it.

"It's okay," Holly smiles, looking up briefly from her book.

Gail picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"It's Lorraine, hon. I tried your mother but I couldn't get through. I just thought I'd make a sneaky call and tell you that they _have_ decided to send Steve to the wards in the morning."

"Really?" Gail leans forward.

"Yes. Good news, hey?"

"It is," Gail tells her, smiling, feeling a rush of relief.

The worst part is over. Now Steve is just a patient in a hospital— a patient with parole instead of a sentence.

"So tomorrow morning when you get in come and see us. I should still be here, and we'll tell you where they have put him, okay? And you know what? It's just my guess, but I think he'll be out of here in a week or two."

"Really?"

"Really. He'll have physio and have to rest when he gets home, but I can't see it taking much longer. The doctor's might see it differently, but I doubt it. And don't tell anyone I told you that, okay?"

"I won't, I promise. Thank you, Lorraine." Gail says, not knowing how better to express her gratitude to this warm, generous woman.

"And then I don't want to see you two again, okay? In the nicest possible way."

Gail laughs. "Okay."

"Night sweetheart."

"Good night. And thank you so much," Gail tells her, but Lorraine has already hung up. Gail smiles, turning her phone over in her hand.

"News?" Holly asks, her chin in her hand.

"Yeah, Steve is definitely going to a regular ward tomorrow."

Holly smiles, leaning back against the wall. "That's great."

"It is." Gail sighs, feeling almost gleeful. "I better call Mom and Dad."

She dials her mother's number. It goes straight to the clipped, officious cheeriness of her mother's voicemail. She sighs, trying her father's number. This time she gets his short, polite message.

She checks her watch. They should be well and truly done with work for the day.

She feels the glee dissipate as she tries her mother's number again with the same result. Frustrated, she tries her father one more time. No answer. She clicks her tongue. She feels like she has heard the sound of her parents' recorded voices in her life more than she has actually heard them in-person. Why is her mother always veering between being irritatingly in her face, or entirely, depressingly absent— but never really available either way when Gail actually needs something?

She let's out an annoyed breath, and taps her phone against the bed. She just wants to be able to tell them the good news. Why can they never, _ever_ just pick up their freaking phones when she calls?

"What's up?" Holly is looking over at her, frowning.

Gail sighs. "You know, Holly, I can't even remember the last time I called my parents, when I really needed to talk to one of them and they actually _answered_ the phone," she growls, throwing her phone onto the bed in front of her. "Why are they never just _there_?"

Against her better judgement she reaches down, picks up her phone and tries again. The same again. Voicemail.

She throws her phone down onto her bag on the floor and rests her forehead in her hands, feeling the anger she has kept locked-down bubbling to the surface. It makes her throat ache. How come they just get to leave all this?

Until now she has possessed no room for any anger at her parents in her need to focus on the hurt of seeing Steve so close to real and permanent damage. She used to be grateful for her parents' perennial absence, sometimes, but never did she think it would happen at a time like this. She takes a deep breath and tries to stem the tears she can feel coming, but she can't. They come in a frustrated sob. She is crying. She tries to halt it, taking a deep breath, but it's too late.

That's when she feels Holly slide down the bed until she is sitting next to Gail. She doesn't say anything, though. Just sits beside her.

"I'm just so tired, and so sick of it." Gail sniffs, swiping at the tears that are beginning to make a break for it down her cheeks. "And I wish they'd just be here and deal with all this. My mother thinks because she calls me a million times a day, and calls the doctors and interrogates them, and sends her police friends down to the hospital to check on me every five minutes that it is okay that she's not here." Gail shakes her head, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. "It's not."

Holly gets up and goes over to her desk. She brings back a handful of tissues and puts them in Gail's hands. She sits back down, crosses her legs on the bed and begins moving her hand in slow circles around Gail's back. And Gail lets the tears fall, released by the permission of this touch, this touch containing the sympathy that tells her she has a right to feel bad about this, that she's doesn't need to just grow up and get over it.

"I'm so sorry," Holly whispers.

"It's okay," Gail says, sniffing, unable to stop herself from being instantly rendered slightly defensive by Holly's admittance of her situation at the same time. "I mean I'm an adult, I should be able to do this. I _am_ doing this."

"Yeah, but, you know," Holly tells her, her hand stopping in the middle of Gail's back and pressing on it for emphasis. "If anything like this happened to me, I'd totally want my parents to be there."

"Yeah, well most of the time I don't want my mother there. But it would sure as hell help if she was now," Gail sniffs.

Holly just nods and keeps up her soothing massage of Gail's back until Gail finds her breath again and the tears finally stop falling.

And when they do, Holly makes them tea, which they drink silently on the bed, sitting side by side. Then Holly carries her books over to her desk and arranges them in a big pile.

"We can't study any more," she says wearily, turning to Gail. "Want to watch a movie or something? Just chill?"

"Sure," Gail says, numb. She couldn't concentrate now if she tried.

They watch the film on her bed. Gail lies against the pillows and tries to concentrate. At some point she sees her phone light up on top of her bag by the bed but, knowing it probably her mother, she ignores it, doling out her small punishment— the only one she has—for her mother's neglect. She can find out the news from the hospital. Gail does not feel like talking to her now.

But now she can't concentrate, either, and she stares past the screen wondering how life is going to possibly go back to normal after this, when her parents return and Steve gets out of hospital and Gail will be doing regular things like exams and starting the summer break. She cannot even imagine it, not going through her days carrying around this fear and this sadness, or now, this anger at her parents.

Holly seems to sense that she paying no attention because she turns and looks at her, frowning.

"You okay?"

Gail nods. "Sort of. I'm just … I don't know." And before she knows it, she is crying again. Small, manageable tears this time, shed without rage. Now they are just tired and overwhelmed tears.

Holly stops the movie.

"Let's just go to bed." She puts her hand on Gail's arm. "You'll feel better after some sleep, and then even better when you see Steve tomorrow in the regular ward."

Gail just nods, obedient, glad Holly seems to know what to do, because she doesn't know what to do with herself.

"Do you need anything? More tea? Something warmer to wear?"

Gail shakes her head and smiles, wiping her eyes dry. "No, thanks, I'm fine."

Holly, climbs under the covers and Gail does the same. Holly pulls off her sweater and leans over and flick off the lamp.

Gail turns over onto her side, facing the window. "I'm sorry to be such a mess," she whispers into the darkness. "I don't know, it all just kind of hit me."

"Do _not_ be sorry." Holly's voice is soft as she settles onto a pillow behind her, and puts her hand on her back. "You've been amazing at keeping it together, but you get to be a mess. God, Gail, it's not like you're being melodramatic. Steve was really badly hurt. He's your brother. You can be as much of a mess as you want."

Gail doesn't say anything. She can't. She just sniffs and pulls the covers higher around her

"And, you know, it will all be okay." Holly says.

"I hate it when people say that." Gail tells her, smiling in the darkness and sniffing.

"Why? It will be," Holly insists, moving closer and winding a comforting arm around Gail's waist. "I know it will. So put up with it."

Gail doesn't say anything, just leans back a little and settles into the sympathetic circle of Holly's embrace, grateful to be here in the shelter of this room right now.

"Night Holly," she whispers eventually.

"Night, Gail."

"And … thank you."

And all she feels is Holly's arm tighten around her. She smiles into the darkness and closes her eyes.

* * *

**IV**

Gail wakes to a world barely different from the one she departed in sleep; still on her side, still encircled by Holly's arm. The only difference is the early light leaking into the room, and the fact that she feels rested and maybe even slightly normal. And although she doesn't move, her waking must send some current through to Holly because she hears her begin to rouse, rolling away from Gail, her arm sliding off her waist.

Then Gail hears her yawn quietly and sit up in bed, pulling the covers slightly away.

Gail takes a minute, hiding in the pretence of sleep, wanting to stay suspended in this place of comfort before she faces another day that is bound to be like all the recent others. Except she will take this small respite she has had with her.

But she must have fallen asleep again, because she wakes to a room lighter still, and empty.

She gets up, pulls on her sweater and goes out into the kitchen, where she can hear the sound of voices.

Holly and her mother are in there, sitting at the kitchen table. Tasya looks like she is dressed for work, in a skirt and stockings and a neat jacket. Holly is dressed in leggings and trainers.

The silence that falls and the way they look at her when she walks into the room tells her they have been talking about her.

"Morning Gail," Tasya says, smiling and getting up. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes please," Gail nods. Holly just smiles at her and pats the chair next to her. Feeling awkward about the fact she knows she has interrupted some sort of discussion about herself, Gail sits down, biting her lip., not knowing what to say.

Holly takes one of the slices of toast from her plate and then pushes the plate toward Gail.

"I'll make some more in a sec," Holly says. "You eat that."

"Yes, bossy," Gail grins, taking it.

Holly just smiles at her.

"So Gail," Tasya says, putting a mug of coffee and a carton of milk in front of her. "When do your parents get back from their conference?"

Gail shakes her head. "Uh, Wednesday night, I think."

"Well," Tasya says, sitting down in her chair with a sigh, and picking up a pile of papers from the table and putting them in her case. "Why don't you stay here with us until they get back?"

Surprised, Gail stops with the piece of toast halfway to her mouth. She frowns and starts to automatically refuse.

"Oh no, that's o …"

"I wish you would," Tasya interrupts. "It will make life a little easier for you. You will be nice and close to the hospital and you won't have to worry about anything else," She closes her case and snaps the lock shut. "You could just come and go as you need, and you and Holly can study for your exams together."

Gail just opens and closes her mouth, but can't think of what to say. This level of kindness, of generosity, is both lovely _and_ daunting. She is not used to such generosity from strangers

"Oh, no, that's okay, really," she stutters. "But thank you."

"And to be honest, I really don't like the thought of you staying by yourself right now," Tasya tells her, standing up and picking up her coffee cup and taking it to the sink.

Holly leans forward, tapping her on the arm.

"You _should_, you know," she says. "We can study here, too, when you can't be at the hospital. Mom and Dad will be at work."

Before she can say anything, Tasya walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"You really, really would be very welcome, Gail," she adds, assuring her.

Holly leans her chin on her hands and grins at her.

"So come on, just stop being polite and say yes," she laughs.

"Really?" Gail asks.

"Yes," Holly insists. "And don't feel like you are putting anyone out or anything. Mom loves to take in strays. Look at Robbie, freeloading every Sunday," she grins again.

"I insist, actually," Tasya squeezes her shoulder.

"Um, okay, th … thank you," Gail stutters, utterly bewildered by the constancy of the flow of kindness from these people. But also frightened by the one-sidedness of it. She has nothing to give back.

"Good, well, I'll see you both tonight," Tasya tells them, giving Gail one more squeeze. "I'll be back late-ish. Have a good day."

"Bye," they say in unison.

Gail turns back to Holly, who is untying the laces of her shoes.

"Did you just go for a run, or something?" she asks. She doesn't intend it, but she says run like it's a dirty word. She hates running. Why run unless someone is chasing you?

"Yep," Holly smiles. "Helps wake me up."

"That's what coffee is for, stupid," Gail tells her.

"Yeah, yeah," Holly says, breezy, getting up. "I'm going to shower. Are you going to the hospital this morning?"

"Yep," Gail nods. Where else would she go?

"I'll walk with you. I'm meeting Pete at the library to go over Biochem."

"Sounds positively thrilling," Gail grins.

Holly just smiles and strides out of the sunny kitchen, ignoring her.

And Gail rests her chin in her hand and shakes her head, looking around the kitchen. She _already_ feels better being here.

**To Be Continued...**

**Thanks for your reviews.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I**

On the walk to the hospital, Gail tries one more time to give Holly an out; worried she might regret this offer her mother has made for Gail to stay with them. She _is_ about to do some seriously crucial exams, way more important than Gail's are. And having Gail there will mean she will have someone else in her house, in her room even, taking up her space and time.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I know you have like a zillion exams. I'll be in the way," she says as they walk along Holly's street, off to their respective days.

"God, Gail, of course not." Holly knocks her elbow against her arm. "You're my friend. I want you to stay, so stop asking, okay?"

"Okay then." Gail shrugs. What else can she say?

The matter settled, they walk along in peaceful silence, turning onto traffic-choked Moore Street. Gail looks over to the monolithic glass and steel structure of the hospital a block away and thinks about the day ahead, starting with another morning of hanging out with Steve in his room. Then she'll have to go home at lunchtime and get some things, she guesses, and come back. Steve is having his first proper physio session in the afternoon and she wants to be there.

He will move to the new ward today, too, if he hasn't already. She recalls Lorraine's phone call last night, and that she is supposed to go and find out where he will be. It was so nice of Lorraine to call her and tell her, even if it was the thing that set off her rage at her parents and that embarrassing little crying jag in Holly's room. Gail doesn't want to think about those tears last night again, because every time she does she cringes, mortified at the memory of losing it like that in front of someone, even Holly.

But Lorraine, she was just trying to deliver some good news, and Gail feels like she should thank her properly for going out of her way to do that.

"Hey, do you know, is there a _nice_ florist around here?" she asks Holly. "The hospital one is kind of tacky."

"Yup, I do." Holly nods and checks her watch. "I'll take you to Mom's one. It's great."

"You can just tell me where it is if you want," Gail tells her hurriedly, not wanting to take up any more of Holly's time than she already has these last twenty-four hours.

"No, I'll come. I love it."

"Of course you do," Gail grins. _Such_ a geek.

When they enter the tiny shop, though, just a few shops back from the street behind the hospital, Gail can see why Holly and her mother love it. It is tiny, but spilling over with all kinds of flowers organised by shade, starting with jars of muted pastel blooms at her feet and ending in shelves over her head in explosions of the most vivid shades of crimson and orange and yellow. And where there aren't flowers, there are plants; leafy ferns hanging from hooks on the ceiling, a trailing vine framing the window.

"Wow," Gail mutters, trying to take in this overwhelming profusion of colour.

"I know," Holly smiles, waving at the small white-haired woman behind the counter, who is busily working at tying up a bouquet of purple blooms. She returns a shy smile, but says nothing to them. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yup," Gail agrees, turning in slow circles, overwhelmed by the assault of scent and colour and choice. "I have no idea where to even start. Help," she yelps.

Holly grins. "For your brother, right?"

"What? _No_." Gail pulls a face, shaking her head. "His only present is my presence."

Holly laughs. "Who are they for, then?"

"For one of the nurses," Gail explains, frowning at the selection, trying to think what Lorraine might like.

"The one with the hair?" Holly asks, grinning.

Gail giggles and nods. "Yeah, the one with the _epic_ hair."

Holly takes another step into the depths of the store, looking up at the top shelves, digging her hands into her pockets, and turning around.

"I'm thinking something bright but traditional for her," she says, nodding to herself as she looks around

"Uh, okay, nerd, I have no idea what that means in flower," Gail confesses. "But you sound like you have a pretty good fallback as a florist or an old lady if you don't get into med school."

Holly just grins. "Maybe those?" she points up at some bright yellow roses.

"Nah," Gail shakes her head. "I hate roses."

"Who hates roses?"

"Me," Gail shrugs, her eyes roaming. She does hate them. It's a Brendan thing.

She sweeps her eyes across the shelves. Then she sees them, a cluster of rich orange lilies of a shade not unlike Lorraine's hair. They are half-open, nestled among wide leaves of a deep lush green.

"Those," she says, pointing.

Definitely those.

* * *

**II**

"I'm bored," Steve whines. "Talk to me."

Gail looks up from her book and rolls her eyes. Lee, the nurse tending him, chuckles.

"First sign a patient is getting well," he grins, placing a piece of spotless white gauze over the wound in Steve's leg. "They start crying boredom."

"I liked it better when he slept all the time," Gail grumbles, putting her book down on top of her bag.

Actually, she doesn't really mind the distraction at all. She is currently _so_ sick of the sight of her French culture textbook, she'll take anything, even Steve's complaints, over re-reading another chapter.

"But you're my visitor," Steve tells her, petulant, looking just like he did when he was ten and he'd realise he'd finished all his Easter eggs before Gail _again_. "You're _supposed_ to entertain me."

"No, I'm your sister," Gail smiles. "So I'm duty-bound to be here with you. Entertainment is what the TV is for. That's why Mom and Dad paid for the premium deal, idiot."

"Well, don't worry, hon, he won't be bored later," Lee says, turning and winking at Gail before lifting Steve's leg and deftly winding the bandage around it. "You've got physio this afternoon," he tells Steve, chuckling. "That's going to hurt."

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, wincing slightly as Lee fastens the bandage.

"No, it's a _promise_," he retorts, putting his leg back down on the mattress, patting it, and picking up the ball of old dressings. He lays the sheet carefully back over Steve's leg and turns and grins at him. "Believe me, no one gets thrown from a car, then lies completely still for a week or two in a hospital bed and enjoys getting made to move. Trust me, you won't be doing much, but you _will_ suffer."

"Well, I'd just like to thank you, Lee, for single-handedly ruining my anticipation of the day ahead," Steve sighs, blinking melodramatically. "I had one thing to look forward to. And now, nothing." He shakes his head, faux sorrowful.

Lee just grins, checks something off on Steve's chart and heads for the door.

"Happy to be of service, Steve," he shoots back over his shoulder as he disappears.

Gail doles out her brother her best malevolent grin, but he ignores her. Instead he picks up his remote control, turns the volume back up a little, and starts to flick through the channels. Even with the good TV package there is still nothing on _ever_; just a slew of movies and mediocre television on repeat, and sport, sport, and more sport.

"I can't wait to get home to my Playstation," he says, still flicking.

"Just please don't make me watch golf again," Gail sighs. "I may stab myself in the eye. Or you."

Steve laughs. "You know, don't you have anything better to do than hang out with me and complain about my choices in viewing pleasure?" he teases, turning and giving her a grin.

"Yes, Steve, in fact I do," she grumbles as he settles on a basketball match. She automatically picks up her textbook. "But you know how it is, as the only representative currently in town, this Peck must do her family duty and supervise your not-dying."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, grinning at the television.

His not-dying is going incredibly well today, actually. He is even sitting right up for the first time, bolstered against some pillows and looking relatively human. The grazes on his jaw and face have mostly cleared up, and his hair has been washed and brushed. From the neck up, you can't really tell there was ever anything wrong with him.

"Mum called this morning," he says, still looking at the screen. "Just checking in."

Gail just nods, not even looking up from her page. What's new? She calls and checks in three or four times a day most days.

"You know, she got all weird when I told her I can't really remember her being here."

That makes Gail look up from her book, though.

"_You can't_?"

He shakes his head, flipping over to a hockey match and then straight back to the basketball.

"I mean, I know she was here, and I remember knowing that, and remember the nurses talking about her. But I just can't really remember _her_." He shakes his head again. "Then, I don't remember much."

"What _do_ you remember?" she asks, curious.

"Just little things, like the doctors talking about me, like feeling really weirdly heavy, liked I weighed more than usual. I remember pain," he laughs. "Until they gave me more painkillers. I remember not being able to speak. And I remember you, telling me about the accident. And I remember how white you were." he turns and glances at her quickly, before looking back at the screen.

"I'm always white," she says quickly, wondering which time he actually remembers. She must have told him what had happened at least fifteen times that day.

"But I just don't remember Mom," he says.

"She would _not_ like that," Gail sighs, shaking her head.

"No," Steve shakes his, reaching over and grabbing a pen. He shoves it down the top of his cast, scratching at his upper arm and frowning. "She did that thing, you know, where she was kind of angry, but trying to pretend she's not because she knows it's not cool to get angry about it?"

Gail nods. She knows that one exactly.

"Guilt," is all she says, shrugging. Guilt for leaving before Steve could even remember she was there.

"Yeah, I guess," is all he says, still slowly working the pen in and out of his cast.

Gail watches him as he stares at the screen, scrutinising the play, pulling a face when a player misses an easy shot. She sits back in her chair, crossing her legs and tapping her pen on her mouth. She knows her mother feels bad about leaving them here. She wouldn't call so much if she didn't. She wouldn't harass the doctors all the time. She wouldn't organise for their aunt to bring Steve his favourite foods when she comes at night, so he doesn't have to eat the shitty hospital food. And she knows that she will hate the fact that Steve can't remember her being there at all when for a while there, she was so intensely, irrepressibly _there_.

"Thanks for hanging out," Steve suddenly says, breaking into her thoughts. "I know you've got a lot going on, with exams and everything, and …"

"Steve?" she interrupts, before he can continue

"What?"

"Shut up," she tells him, because that's the only way she knows how to tell him that of course she's here, of course she is hanging out with him, of course there is nothing more important for her right now than sitting in this room.

He just turns to her and smiles, agreeable.

"Okay."

* * *

**III**

"That is _all _you are getting," Holly says, smiling coyly and poking her in the side with her foot.

"And this, Holly, is _all_ I require," Gail tells her, pushing away the foot and trying to sound aloof. She undermines it though, with an involuntary giggle. She can't help it though; the photo is pretty stupidly cute.

They are lying end to end on the bed again, Holly up against the pillows, Gail with her head on a pillow at the other end, her socked feet resting on the wall above the bed. Even though it is getting dark and Holly has turned on the lamps, they have left the curtains wide open and the window raised, letting the balmy evening air wash in with its smells of grass and damp earth and early dinners being cooked in neighbouring apartments. Every now and then the lights of a passing headlight lay bright tracks along the wall of Holly's bedroom, and as she studies, Gail can hear the sounds of footsteps and doors slamming as people come home from work.

They are on a break. Together they have plotted out the perfect study system. One hour of intense, silent study time. Then they get the reward of ten minutes to relax and talk or make a snack or whatever they need to do. It works well.

It is Gail's third night at the apartment and they have been working steadily every night when Gail gets back from the hospital and Holly returns from the library, where she spends her days. Tomorrow Gail's parents will be back from Ottawa and she will go back home. She knows she is going to kind of miss it. It's cosy here, and lively, with Holly's parents home around night, and people dropping around for tea. It's a world away from Gail's house.

And an added bonus is that being here studying with Holly, who is completely and utterly focused on her work, means that Gail is probably as prepared for the exams as she would have been if Steve had not been hurt, such has been the intensity of their work. In fact the harder they study, the calmer Gail feels about these coming exams, like now that she knows she is back on track she is sure she can manage whatever will be thrown at her.

Holly, however, seems to be the opposite; and the more she studies, the more tense she becomes. It's not overt; she's still acting like regular Holly, but Gail can see the fear winding tighter inside her, in the ways her brow tightens when she talks about them, or in the way she catches her staring off into the middle distance between bouts of note-taking, a look of consternation on her face. Holly is terrified of these exams. And she looks so damn miserable in these moments that when she can, during these breaks, Gail tries to distract her from thinking about them, talking about other things or telling pointless stories. It seems to work, mostly.

And this is her latest means of distraction, spurred by genuine curiosity. She lays her head back against the pillow, holding the picture above her face, staring at it.

It is so unmistakeably Holly, even if she is dressed in the girliest clothes Gail has _ever_ seen her in; a knee length flowery blue party dress. Her hair is wrapped in a wreath of plaits around her head, strands of stray hair falling around her face and neck, exactly the same way they do now.

She is laughing in the photo, her mouth open and her arms akimbo, as though she were completely in motion when the shot was snapped.

"How old were you?" Gail asks, holding it a little closer.

"Maybe six or seven, I think?"

It was taken here in the flat, Gail realises, recognising the living room, despite a slightly different arrangement of furniture. But it is definitely that room with its large wood-framed windows. She almost doesn't recognise Holly's father, though, young and thinner and beardless. He _is_ sporting a moustache though, for which she must remember to pay him out on at a later date.

"Who is that with your dad?" she asks, looking at small, slender woman with long honeyed blonde hair standing next to him. It's definitely not Holly's mom.

Whoever she is, she is laughing, her arm around Holly's neck.

"And why is she strangling you?" Gail asks

"Who is strangling who?" asks a voice from the door.

She turns. It is Tasya. Gail immediately takes her feet from where they are resting on the wall, not wanting to look too at home. And feet on the wall is probably a little too at home for the houseguest, she guesses.

Tasya doesn't even seem to notice though.

"Gail wanted to see a photo of me when I was little. I'm showing her that one of Lila and Dad, from Dad's birthday party that year," Holly tells her.

"Ah," Tasya nods, like she knows it well. She enters slowly and sits down on Holly's desk chair with a sigh. "Then she was probably holding her still. You always had to do that for photos with Holly. Most of the pictures we have of her under the age of ten, she is being held in a headlock by someone trying to keep her in the frame," she chuckles.

Gail laughs, looking over at Holly, her eyebrows raised. "A bit hyperactive, Holly?"

"I hated being in photos," she explains, grinning.

"And you hated standing still even more." Tasya chuckles.

Holly just shrugs and smiles again.

Tasya reaches out for the photo, "May I?"

Gail passes it to her and watches her as she stares at it for a minute, a shadow of a frown on her face as she recalls whatever it is she is recalling from that moment.

"You were going to turn seven that year," she says to Holly "Because it was your Dad's thirty-seventh birthday." She suddenly smiles at the photo, rubbing her chin with finger. "I always forget how beautiful Lila was, but she was, wasn't she?"

Holly just nods, smiling.

"Who is Lila?" Gail asks, turning over on her side, resting her head on her hand and looking between Holly and her mother.

"Peter's sister," Tasya tells her, taking one last long look back at the picture and passing it back to Gail. "She died two years later, of cancer."

"Oh," Gail says, staring at the woman in the photo. She can't be more than thirty in this picture. And she _is_ lovely.

"She was Peter's only sister. Holly's only aunt."

"I'm so sorry," Gail says. "That's so sad." She wonders how well Holly remembers her, but she doesn't want to ask.

Tasya just nods. Then she smiles and says, "I remember I was trying to get a picture of the three of them to send to Rosa, Peter's mother. And Lila was just trying to get Holly to stay still, but of course, she wasn't having any of it. I was taking too long to work the new camera out and all she wanted to do was go to the park, because Lila had promised to take her."

"Where are your shoes, Holly?" Gail asks, noticing for the first time that, despite the fancy party dress and hair, her feet are bare and grubby.

Holly just laughs and rolls her eyes, looking over at her mother, like she knows what is about to come.

"That, Gail," Tasya chuckles, "Is a question that has been asked often in this house over the years." She leans backing the chair, sighing. "Holly had this uncanny ability to divest herself of shoes within minutes of putting them on, even when she was a baby. We'd get in the car to go shopping and she would be wearing them. By the time we'd get into the supermarket, they'd be gone. The child could barely crawl, but she could lose a pair of shoes in minutes. I remember once when she was five, some friends once found her pair of little white shoes bought just for the occasion under the bridal table, the day after a wedding in Vancouver. We'd had to leave the wedding with her in bare feet because we couldn't find them anywhere. They had to post them back to us."

"I hated those shoes," Holly grumbles, pulling a face. "They were ugly."

"And then sometimes she'd simply come home without them," Tasya shrugs "I don't know how many times I had to call the school, or other parents and see if you'd left them at friends' houses. "

"How do you not notice you have no shoes on?" Gail asks, baffled.

Holly just shrugs and raises her hands, blushing. "I don't _know_. I don't lose them _any more_," she says.

"I wish I knew the answer when she was a child, though, Gail. I would be a richer woman for it," Tasya laughs. "Some never appeared again. And some turned up in the oddest places," Tasya laughs. "Like on the kitchen windowsill, once" she shakes her head. "The _outside_ of the kitchen windowsill. Of a second story apartment."

"Mr Hatsis once found a pair in his yard that I'd dropped on the way home, remember?" Holly adds, still a little pink, but clearly committed to her embarrassment now.

"Oh yes, that's right," Tasya laughs. "Do you remember that letter you wrote to them? About their yard?"

Holly laughs, resting her head back against the wall. "Yes. My stroke of genius."

"It really was," Tasya agrees. She turns to Gail, smiling. "When Holly was about eight we would never let her go around to her friend Maya's unless one of us walked her there. And of course, being an only child, she _always_ wanted to go there and play with Maya and her brother."

"They lived on the street behind us," Holly explains, "but it was kind of a long block to get around there."

"And there was a busy main road on the way," Tasya adds. "So we didn't like her going by herself."

Gail nods, pushing her book away, thoroughly entertained by this small moment of nostalgic indulgence. It's way more fun than reflexive verbs.

"And of course, we weren't always able to walk her when she wanted to go— not straight away." Tasya says. "Which drove her _crazy_."

"I would get _so_ impatient," Holly laughs. "I remember you'd tell me that you would take me in fifteen minutes, and I'd just sit there and watch the clock and wait for it to move. It would feel like an eternity."

Gail smiles. She remembers that feeling when she was a kid. A minute took a day, and an hour took a year, especially when you really, really wanted something to happen.

"And of course, with Peter it actually _would_ be an eternity," Tasya chuckles, picking up a textbook from the desk and flicking through it. "He'd tell her fifteen minutes and then get completely absorbed in what he was working on and forget."

"Yeah, and he thought he could get away with it, that I couldn't tell time on his study clock yet," Holly laughs. "That I wouldn't even know whether it had been fifteen minutes or not. He forgot he taught me how the numbers worked when I was five," she says, rolling her eyes.

Tasya laughs and shakes her head.

"So what was the letter about?" Gail asks, wondering exactly where this story is actually going.

"Well after getting tired of constantly waiting for us to walk her around to Maya's house, or begging us to let her walk alone, which we told her she couldn't until she was ten, Holly masterminded her own solution."

"What did you do?" Gail asks, turning to her, curious.

"I finally figured out that if I went over the back way I actually only had to go though one backyard to get to Maya's house— their next door neighbours, the Hatsises," Holly tells her. "So I wrote them a letter explaining who I was and asking for permission to cross through their yard. And then I got Maya to put it in their mailbox for me. I even put a stamped self-addressed envelope in with it," she laughs. "I don't even know how I knew to do that."

Gail giggles, impressed. "Wow, that _is_ kind of genius."

Steve used to make his way around their whole, safer suburban neighbourhood via backyards, too, but Gail is pretty sure he was just good old fashioned trespassing.

"Well Holly had it completely worked out. She even suggested an exchange for manual labour, offering to rake their leaves or garden or something in return for passage," Tasya adds, smiling. "And then they wrote this very nice note back to Peter and I, saying Holly was welcome to use their yard as a thoroughfare, and saying what a polite little girl she was. We, of course, had no idea _what_ they were talking about at this point."

"I figured I'd wait and see what they said first," Holly raising her hands and grinning. "Before I pitched it to Mom and Dad. I thought they'd be more likely to say yes then."

"And how could we not?" Tasya smiles at Gail. "We were so impressed at our child's initiative," she says. "And highly amused, of course."

"And it meant you didn't have to spend all your time listening to me begging you to walk me around the block."

"True," Tasya nods.

"What would you have done if they still didn't let you?" Gail asks, because _her_ mother probably still would have said no, just on the basis that she didn't think of the idea.

"Probably created some sort of Powerpoint presentation explaining the pros and cons of letting her go on her own. With interactive maps," Tasya chuckles. "She wouldn't have given up."

Holly just grins and shrugs. "Maybe."

"And she and Maya used that route to visit each other that way until they were at least fourteen."

"And we only stopped because the Hatsises moved," Holly adds.

Gail smiles. It sounds like such an unlikely sweet story for inner-Toronto. It's definitely not the kinds of stories she's used to hearing about the area from her parents in their line of work.

"Anyway," Tasya sighs, slapping her hands on her knees and getting up, holding on to her hip. "Enough of my distractions. What did I come up here for, anyway?" she frowns. "I swear it wasn't just to share embarrassing stories about my daughter— although I did enjoy it," she adds quickly, smiling. She leans on the desk and taps her fingers on her lip, thinking. "Oh, that's right. I spoke to your grandmother Rosa today, and she wants you to call her before your exams start."

"Okay," Holly nods, and then grits her teeth. "_Exams_," she sighs.

Gail watches as she immediately begins to frown, tapping her pen against the page of her book, just that one word setting her off again.

"You'll be _fine_," Tasya tells her, smiling and shaking her head, as if she is used to this level of anxiety from Holly. "You've worked hard, daughter."

Holly doesn't even respond. She is too busy already backsliding into her quiet panic. After watching her shift in and out of this escalating terror enough for the last few days, Gail is starting to see what Pete was talking about when he said what he said Holly and her attack of crazy over the MCAT back when they first met, because her pre-exam jitters are _kind of_ extreme.

Tasya turns to Gail, her brow furrowed.

"Do you get like this over your exams?" she asks, tipping her head toward Holly, who is now chewing her lip, brows knitted, staring into the middle distance, ignoring them.

Gail smiles and shakes her head. "I worry about doing well. And I get nervous, but nothing like this. Yes, your daughter _is_ nuts."

Tasya laughs, but Holly doesn't even register.

"She'll do well. She always does," she sighs. "But it doesn't stop her getting like this."

She takes one more affectionate look at Holly before turning and trudging slowly out the room, one hand on her hip.

"I'll see you two later for dinner."

"Okay. Thank you, Tasya," Gail says, before turning back to Holly, who is still chewing her lip, trapped somewhere in the mire of her inner high-achiever panic.

"Hey Holls," Gail calls out to her, louder than she needs to.

Holly jumps a little. "What?" she asks, frowning.

Gail taps her pen on her leg. "Breathe," she tells her loudly, grinning. "Don't. Forget. To. _Breathe_," she teases.

Holly just looks at her, her blank stare slowly shifting into a rueful smile.

"It going to be_ okay_," Gail assures her, patronising, before turning back over onto her back and picking up her book, ready to get back to work.

Holly frowns. "How come you're allowed to say that, and I'm not?"

"Because," Gail says airily. "Just because. So breathe."

Obediently Holly takes in a deep breath, sighs it out and returns to the page in front of her.

Gail just smiles and shakes her head. She picks up the photo one more time and looks at it. It is such a contrast to the frowning Holly sitting in front of her right now. She stares at Lila, wondering if Holly can remember her well, how she felt at nine when she lost her only aunt. Gail lost her first grandparent at eleven, her grandfather. But that whole experience is a blur, was a blur, even when it was happening. It wasn't until Gary died that she really felt loss, not just for her, but for Moira and the boys. And for her father. She wants to ask Holly what it was like for her, but isn't sure if she should bring it up, especially when Holly is already as stressed as she is. Besides, she is back to work, her face hidden behind a textbook, reading. So Gail just sits up and carefully places the photo on the bedside table, propped against the base of the lamp, and quietly returns to her reflexive verbs. She'll ask her another time.

* * *

**IV**

"So, how is everyone doing?" Nina asks, passing around the bag of leftover muffins Robbie has brought from work. "Y'all freaking out?"

"I'm okay," Gail groans, leaning back on her hands in the grass. "But I never want to see my French group again after this exam, though. Bunch of freaking uptight nut jobs," she mutters, shaking her head.

She just spent her entire morning watching them argue over whether one of them, this poor, geeky guy who never stands up for himself, is pronouncing one word right. He just sat there, bright red, clearly feeling stupid but too weak to stick up for himself while the other two argued around him. Gail just stared out the window and waited for it to end. Why participate in a battle that has zero point?

They are sitting on the university lawn, surrounded by crowds of anxious students hunched over piles books and notes, clutching flashcards and coffee for dear life.

They have met up in for a sly hour, performing a small farewell of sorts before they all march off into their different exam and final assessments. Except for Nina, of course, who is claiming she is about to march into total social abandonment for the next week or two, which is probably true.

Gail rolls over onto her side on the shady stretch of grass and looks over at Holly.

"Hey Holly?" she asks, teasing. "How are _you_ doing?"

Holly just leans forward over her open book and covers her face, frowning. "I have no idea."

Gail smiles. Good to see nothing has changed since she has left Holly's place. She looks over at Pete. He gives her a grin, nodding, like he knows exactly what she's thinking.

Gail hasn't seen Holly since she left to go home on Wednesday morning. It's Sunday now, the last day before the two-week exam period starts. Gail is first up, with her group oral exam tomorrow and her solo one the day after. Holly has four clustered at the end of the week and Robbie has his essay due on Tuesday. Gail just spent her lunch in the café with him, going over it. Just as she expected, it is a good essay. His points are clear and he has backed them up. It just needed some shuffling, and a proper conclusion. Easy fix.

"Hey, when's your exhibition, Robbie?" Nina asks.

"The weekend exams finish," he tells her. "My friend is having a party after. She lives right near the space. We can celebrate."

"Not quite over for us," Pete says. "We have our med interviews the week after, Holly."

"You wouldn't believe how much I don't want to talk or think about that just now." Holly tells him, shaking her head and holding up a hand as if to halt his words.

Pete just smiles, shaking his head. "_Sorry_."

Robbie smirks, takes the lid off his coffee cup and drains the last drops of it onto the grass, flattening the cup in his hand. He sighs.

"God I wish we were all rich and we could go away on some exotic, totally debauched holiday when this is all over."

"Oh, that sounds _amazing,_" Nina says. "Even if I don't even have exams."

"It _would_ be good," Gail agrees. All she wants to do after this is over, and when Steve comes home next week, is to lie around for days and not do a thing. And she'd really love to do it someplace far from her family, too.

"We could do _something_," Nina says. "Go away somewhere, I mean. Like camping, maybe?"

"Camping?" Gail wrinkles her nose. That does _not _sound relaxing.

"It would be cheap," Nina says, shrugging.

"I'm too terrified of bears," Robbie says.

"Who _isn't_ terrified of bears?" Gail frowns.

"That guy in that documentary who loved them," Nina says. "And he ended up getting mauled by one," she adds helpfully.

"See?" Robbie says. "Not going camping."

"What if you rented, like, a cabin, something sturdier than a tent, that bears couldn't chew through?" Pete teases.

Gail smirks, picturing a bear gnawing through a cabin door.

"That'd be better than camping," Robbie shrugs.

"Uh _huh_," Gail agrees, although she actually doesn't even know if she likes camping, being that she's never actually _done_ it. She's willing to bet she doesn't, though. All her nature time has been spent at the cottage, where there is the great outdoors, but there is also a hot shower and all the necessary whitegoods when she's ready to leave it behind.

"Oh my God." She sits up. _Of course_. The cottage.

"What?" Nina asks, breaking a muffin in half. She holds out the other half to Gail. Gail absently takes it. She pulls out a chunk of chocolate chip and pops it in her mouth, mulling over the idea.

"We could go up to the cottage," she says slowly, chewing and staring, wondering how likely it would be for her parents to let them have it.

"We _could_," Robbie says slowly, "If we knew what the hell you were talking about."

"My family has a cottage, up North, on the lake," Gail explains.

"Really?" Robbie raises his eyebrows. "Well aren't you the landed gentry, Missy?"

Gail ignores him, breaking off another piece of muffin and stuffing it in her mouth, chewing slowly. "I'd have to see when my parents are using it, but if they aren't they _might_ let us, if we promise not to break anything." She shrugs. "They let Steve have it a couple of years back for a birthday trip."

"Awesome," Nina says, leaning in. "Can I pretty please come even though I didn't do exams?"

"Of course, stupid," Gail tells her. Nina grins and raises her fist in the air.

"Yes!"

"And can I bring Eli?" Robbie asks.

"Sure," Gail shrugs.

She looks over at Holly, but she's staring down at the pages of her book.

"Hey Holly?"

"What?" she says absently, pushing up her glasses and continuing to stare at the page in her lap.

Gail frowns, shaking her head. "Did you actually listen to any of that?"

She looks up, blinking. "Um, no," she admits, smiling apologetically.

"Listen, space cadet," Robbie says, throwing a piece of muffin at her. "We're going to see if Gail's parents will let her use their cottage at the lake after we've finished school. Up for a post-traumatic holiday?"

Holly nods. She turns to Pete. "Definitely. We could go up after our interviews?"

"Oh, hey," Pete raises his hands, blushing slightly. "I'm not sure I'm invited."

Holly looks over at Gail.

"Of course you are," Gail tells him. "You should come," she says. And she means it, too. She likes Pete. He's nice and he's chilled and not annoying. He'd be good to have around on a holiday.

"Thanks," he says, grinning. He turns back to Holly. "I could drive us up after."

"So, what?" Robbie says, counting them off. "Us five, and Eli?"

"Yeah," Gail nods. "That's probably enough, though. My parents are more likely to say yes if there's just a small group of us."

"Oh my God, yes," Robbie sighs, lying dramatically back on the grass. "Light at the end of the tunnel. This is going to be amazing."

"Amazing," Nina chimes in, flopping down next to him.

It will be, Gail thinks, chewing her lip, if she can get her parents to agree.

* * *

**To Be Continued. Thank you so much for your reviews, peeps.**

**Thanks to my homegirl, SG. You know what you did. And you did it so good. **

**Also, I am writing recaps/analyses (term used used very tongue-in-cheekly) of the ACTUAL Rookie Blue S05 Gail/Holly storyline on my Tumblr blog. Check my author's profile for the links if you want to read.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I**

She decides to send a message rather than calling, not wanting to bother her if she's studying.

_So, how did you go? First two down._

The moment she puts her phone back down on the bed, it starts ringing. She looks at the name, smiles and answers it.

"Hey."

"Hey." Holly sounds breathless, like she's hurrying.

"So?" she asks.

"Okay, I think," Holly says. Now Gail can hear the sound of traffic in the background. She must be walking somewhere. "I answered everything. I just don't know how well."

"Oh, you killed it," Gail scoffs, pushing her book off her lap and sliding down the bed a little so she is lying against the pillows.

"I doubt it," Holly mumbles. "And now I feel really bad. You already had two exams and I didn't message you or call."

"Oh so what?" Gail sighs, smiling. "Let's be real here, Holls. I do okay and the result is I pass French and my group mates don't hate me. You do well and you get into med school. So, you know, I'm not exactly offended okay?"

"Still," she mutters, clearly still feeling guilty.

"Seriously, I don't care," Gail tells her, grinning. "Besides, you've probably been too busy crouching in the corner, rocking back and forth to think about anything else."

"Oh shut up," Holly says. But she laughs.

"So, are you going to be completely catatonic by the end of next week?" Gail teases.

"Possibly," Holly says, and Gail can hear the smile in her voice. "You might want to call and check in every now and then."

"Make sure you get over it before we go away. There's no attic to lock you in at the cottage."

"I'll do my best," she laughs. "So have you asked your parents yet_**?**_"

"Nope, not yet," Gail sighs, rolling her eyes. "It's all about timing, Holly. Oh yeah, and actually laying eyes on them. Where are you going, anyway? You sound like you're running a marathon."

"Going to meet Pete at the library. Last minute anatomy session."

"You know, that sounds vaguely dirty when you say it like that," Gail smiles. "Geek dirty, but dirty."

Holly just laughs. "It's really, _really_ not."

"I know. Anyway," she sighs. "I better get back to it. I'm working at the bar this weekend so I'll only have the days to study."

"When is your last exam?"

"Tuesday morning."

"Okay, I'll call you after."

"You don't have to," Gail tells her. "Really."

"So?" Holly tells her. "I'll still call you."

"Whatever Holly." Gail smiles. "And you just remember to breathe."

She hangs up before Holly can answer.

* * *

**II**

It actually feels good to be back at the bar, working.

Even if it's not her idea of a perfect Friday night by any stretch it beats the hell out of another night of hiding in her room studying, or watching Steve fall asleep on the sofa while they watch shitty movies she stupidly lets him pick just because he's an invalid. It feels good to be doing something mindlessly physical, too, after the mental slog of revising. And today, when she even spent the afternoon trying to read a new book, extra fodder for her French lit exam, she discovered her brain is way too exhausted and currently resisting all new knowledge, because she barely took a thing in. So it's nice not to be taxed for a while.

Plus, it's nice just to be out in the world again, even if it is only the shambolic, drunken little world of the bar. After weeks of existing in the tiny tense universe of the hospital and study, anything seems exciting, and she is about as close to actually enjoying this place as she is ever going to get tonight. Even the customers aren't annoying her as much as usual. And Nina is slavishly grateful for her company after of week without them all, of course.

"Hey there,"

The voice comes from out of nowhere, but it's instantly slightly familiar.

Gail looks up from the pint she is pouring. It's him, guitar boy, from the drunken night of the borrowed bed. He is leaning up against the bar, his arms folded on the surface, smiling. His light brown hair is wavier than she remembers, but that grin and those cheekbones are the same.

"If it isn't the girl who used my bed, and then never answered my calls."

"Uh, yeah, sorry, busy." she mutters, putting the beer on the bar in front of the girl who ordered it and taking the money. The customer smiles as she passes the money to Gail, a smile like she has been listening and is now wondering, _how the hell are you going to get out of this?_ Gail ignores her expression and thrusts the change at her. The girl just shrugs, still smiling, and turns away with her beer.

"Yeah, right," he says, taking his arms from the bar. "Busy," he agrees, nodding and still smiling at her.

She is about to shrug and walk away, whatever-ing it, but then she turns back to him. He doesn't really deserve that kind of brush off. It's not like he was a creep or anything. In fact, he was kind of cool that awful hungovermorning, especially considering that she apparentlybasically invited herself into his bed and then told him not to touch her the minute she got in it. Not her best behaviour.

"Seriously, sorry," she explains, resting her hand on the bar and leaning forward a little. "Things have been crazy."

He just shrugs and nods, still smiling, like she doesn't have to explain. She can't tell, though, if it's a smile like he's saying she doesn't have to explain because he doesn't care, or she doesn't have to explain because he doesn't want to hear excuses.

Either way, she's up for a little torture.

But before she can say anything, Nina comes over and drops two beers on the bar in front of him. He hands her some money while Nina's eyes flick between the two of them, clearly instantly curious as to why Gail is giving a customer— not even her own customer— more than the necessary time of her day.

She waits for Nina to walk away, then purses her lips, pauses a second and then tells him, shrugging, "You know I've had exams and stuff. Oh yeah, and my brother nearly died in a car crash."

His eyes widen immediately

"Whoah. That's awful. Sorry," he says, leaning back on the bar, eyes wide.

She smiles. "Nah, he's fine now. I just wanted to make you feel bad."

"Well it worked," he tells her. Then he lifts his head, giving her a look.

"Hey, how come I have to feel bad, anyway? You're the one who didn't call."

Gail shrugs and smiles. She's bored of that conversation now.

"How's your guitar playing? Still a two-chord wonder?"

He laughs, tucking his hair behind his ear and holding up three fingers. "I got to three before my friend took his guitar back."

"Ooh, impressive," she says, putting her hands on her hips and nodding.

He picks up the beers, grinning.

"Anyway, I better get back," he nods in the direction of the booth, where a lone girl is sitting, staring at her phone.

Gail looks over at her, raises her eyebrows and nods, turning away.

"Yeah, you better."

Nina is on to it quick smart, of course.

"Who was that guy?" she asks in a break between customers.

Gail just shrugs. "I don't know, a guy."

"Do you know him?"

"Kind of. Maybe. No."

"Thanks for clearing that up. He's _hot_."

"I know," Gail tells her, shrugging and picking up a cloth and wiping a section of the bar down.

"God you're _annoying_!" Nina tells her, clearing away some empty glasses so Gail can continue to work her way down the bar with the cloth

"What, because I won't tell you every single thing that goes through my head," Gail laughs. "That's part of your thing, not mine."

"Yeah, definitely not part of your thing," Nina grumbles. "Blood from a stone, Gail, blood from a stone" She shakes her head. "You know, I've never had a friend who plays hard to get _as a friend_ before."

Gail just laughs and throws the cloth in the sink, walking away. She probably would have told Nina about him eventually. But now that she knows how much she is torturing her, it's more fun not to.

The next time he comes to the bar Gail serves him.

"Just a pint please, and two shots of … what?" he asks, scratching his head.

Gail raises her eyebrows and her hands.

"Tequila." What else?

He laughs. "Tequila then," he nods, digging in his pocket for cash.

She pours the drinks, and he pays for them, pocketing the change. Then he suddenly pushes one of the shot glasses toward her, smiling and holding up his own.

She doesn't take it. Instead, she looks over at his table for the girl he was sitting with. There are three of them now, where there was one. She didn't see them come in. They are all hunched over the original girl's phone, looking at something.

"Uh, shouldn't you be drinking with your harem over there?" she asks him.

He laughs.

"My little sister and her twit friends?" He raises his glass higher. "I think not. She's a one-pint screamer." He leans over the bar. "So, are you going to make me do this alone?"

She purses her lips and glances around her. No Andrew to be seen.

And it _would _be rude to make him drink alone.

She smiles quickly and picks it up. She touches her glass to him, meets his eyes for a split second and downs it.

* * *

**III**

They squeeze inside the front door, edging around the crush of bodies.

Gail can feel it immediately, the shrill energy of a room full of people sloughing off this last tense fortnight, letting go after that marathon of output.

Now, whatever happened, everybody gets to throw up their arms and stop caring, because there is nothing they can do about it anymore anyway. As she stands just inside the door, Nina by her side, Gail can feel a thread of something almost bordering on hysteria in the air: everyone wired on the mutual thrill of letting go. And she feels just a bit the same.

The minute they make it through the living room, she spots them. Right at the same time, Robbie waves both hands in the air from the kitchen, trying to catch their attention, not realising she's already seen them. She grabs Nina by the sleeve and hauls her through the crowds of people over to where they are all clustered around the kitchen counter. Already the large kitchen is awash with empty bottles, puddles of misplaced booze and abandoned plastic cups.

"It's over!" Robbie hoots as she gets closer, pulling her into a tight a hug.

She grins, watching Nina greet Pete and Holly over his shoulder

"Yep, it's over," she sighs.

And even though she had her last exam three days ago, and has had a little time to get used to the newfound feeling of summer freedom, it still feels pretty damn good to be here, and to have them all back in the land of the living and together again. She hasn't seen or heard from Robbie in the last fortnight, except one brief text message, either. It's good to see his face.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't come to your exhibition," she tells him, genuinely remorseful. "We had this family thing, to welcome Steve home."

"It's totally fine," Robbie tells her, waving her apology away and running his hand through his hair, which is so bright it is nearly yellow this week. "Anyway, how is he? How was it?"

"Oh Steve's _fine_." Gail rolls her eyes. "The bastard fell asleep straight after dinner. He got off scot-free."

"But didn't you say the poor guy has to, like, lie around for a month now before he can do anything?"

"Yeah and?" she raises her hands. "What's so bad about that?"

"Right now, nothing." He tells her, swigging his beer and putting it down on the bench. He claps his hands together, grinning. "And we are going to be doing that up at the lake next week!" He sings, his voice rising with every word. Then he suddenly grabs her around the waist again and picks her up, swinging her around. "It's going to be _so_ amazing!" he sings.

She thumps him on the shoulder, laughing.

"You are mental tonight!" she gasps as he sets her down and rubs his shoulder.

Asking her parents hadn't been too bad in the end. She played it the smartest way she knew how, asking her mom while she was right in the middle of a phone tangle with the hospital, so that she'd do exactly what Gail hoped she'd do and just waved her away and told her to ask her father. And her father agreed surprisingly easily. It looks like the guilt of leaving her with Steve on her own has paid off, because he actually told her she deserved a break after these last few weeks, and they were welcome to go up there if they promised to look after the place, and not upset anyone in the neighbouring cottages if they were there.

"I'm mental because I am happy," Robbie shrugs, picking up his beer again. "I am so happy that I kicked ass on my feedback, and I'm happy because I even did pretty well on that essay."

"Of course you did," she shrugs, smirking, taking the beer Nina passes to her. "I helped."

"Yeah, you should never do modesty, Gail," he tells her, faux serious as a girl skips up and grabs him by the arm. "It wouldn't suit you," he tells her, grinning, a parting shot before he turns to the girl.

"Oh hey!" he exclaims, throwing his arms around her.

Gail smiles. It looks like Robbie is going to hug the whole world tonight.

She turns around to see what the others are doing. Nina is talking to Pete and Holly, who is perched up on the edge of the kitchen counter. She steps into their loose circle.

Pete turns around and gives Gail an exuberant kiss on the cheek before turning back to Nina, who is mid-story. Holly jumps down off the bench and leaps over to her, grinning.

"I missed you!" she laughs, enfolding her in a brief hug.

Gail laughs too, returning the hug and blushing. They don't usually hug. Well, Gail doesn't usually hug. Except with Robbie, because she has no choice.

"You know I actually missed you, too," she says.

"Aw thanks," Holly says, rolling her eyes and still laughing as she steps back. She looks happier tonight than Gail has seen her in ages. And different. She looks different.

"What's different?" Gail asks narrowing her eyes, looking her up and down.

"Haircut?" Holly suggests, shrugging. "I got a celebratory haircut this afternoon," she shrugs. "But it was really just a trim," she adds.

Gail nods, looking her over again. It _migh_t be her hair. It does look good, even glossier and wavier than usual, hanging somewhere just below her shoulders. But it's not just that. It's all of her. Gail tries to figure it out. She's still wearing her basic uniform, jeans and boots, and a tank. But it's like a more sophisticated version of her usual look or something. Her top is black, and made of some silky material, showing off her already tanned shoulders. And she is wearing a long loose chain with a long thin silver pendant hanging from it. She's like a shiny version of Holly, like she's made an extra effort for the night.

Holly frowns, running her hand self-consciously through her hair.

"No, you look really good," Gail tells her quickly, realising she's made her uncomfortable, staring at her, trying to figure out why she can't quite recognise her tonight. But it's in a good way. But she doesn't know how to tell Holly that without making her more uncomfortable, so she just takes a swig of her beer and then holds it out to her, conciliatory.

Holly grins and shakes her head, laughing

"No, I need a break, I think," she says. "I've already had a few too many celebratory tequilas."

"Well you did earn it," Gail shrugs, turning the beer in her hand.

"Yeah," Holly smiles. "You know, I really did miss you, though. Study breaks were no fun on my own."

Gail smiles. She wishes she'd still been there, too, for that last slog. Her mother took some time off when Steve got out of hospital, so it was even worse returning home and studying there. She was having some intense motherly spell, obviously trying to make up for that lost hospital week. She kept knocking on Gail's door all the time, asking if she needed anything, or to ask inane questions or offer food. It was happening so often it felt like Gail's irritation had only just calmed from the last invasion when there would be another knock on the door. She even spent quite a few hours studying on the steps of her father's shed in the sunshine, just because she knew her mother would never go out in the yard and find her there. It was so much calmer at Holly's, even sharing a room with someone and having no space to call her own. The energy is so different at her house.

She is just about to ask how Holly's parents are when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns. It's Jeremy, smiling, a pack of beer under his arm.

"Hey, I made it," he tells her, tucking his hair behind his ears.

"You made it," she agrees, trying to hide her surprise. She'd forgotten for a minute that she'd invited him along— a few tequilas in— at the other night at the bar.

Sick of his sister and her friends that night last week, he'd ended up hanging around the bar, chatting to Gail and Nina while they packed down the place. He was just like the first time she met him, fun and chilled, with that wry, easy sense of humour. She can see how she ended up in his bed. Well, not in his bed exactly, but how she ended up going anywhere near him in the first place. He's nice and he's funny. And hot. He's still definitely hot.

Still, for a second she is a little thrown by his sudden appearance in this kitchen, and she just smiles blankly at him, not knowing what to say.

So he takes over.

"Hey, I'm Jeremy," he says, holding his hand out toward Holly.

"Sorry," Gail mutters. "This is, uh, Jeremy."

"Yeah, got that," Holly smiles, turning to him and shaking his hand. "Holly."

"Hey, Holly," he laughs. "That's my sister's name."

"Is it?" Gail asks, raising her eyebrows. "The one from the other night?"

"Nah, another one," he says, turning back to Holly and smiling "What do you know, huh?"

"Hmm," is all Holly seems to have to say to that revelation. Then she looks between them, and kind of smiles again.

"So did you just finish exams, too?" Jeremy asks her.

"Yep" she sighs. "But I plan on forgetting them now. "Tonight," she says, holding out her hands. "There is no such thing as exams."

She nods, decisive. Then she suddenly reaches out, threading her arm between them. Gail steps aside as Holly takes the shot being passed to her. She holds up the glass in their general direction.

"Cheers," she says, and throws back the shot before they even lift their beers in response.

So much for the break, Gail thinks, smirking as Holly shakes her head and winces as the tequila goes down.

Holly looks quickly back and forth at the two of them again, presses her lips together for a second, then puts the glass down on the bench, throws her arms in the air and says, "Right, I'm dancing. See you."

She smiles briefly at them and makes her departure, squeezing between Gail and Jeremy.

"Robbie, let's dance," she calls out.

Gail turns and follows her with her eyes as she departs for the living room-turned-dance floor, Robbie close behind, her arms still in the air, a sway in her hips as she slides between bodies and into the crush. Gail smiles and shakes her head. Holly is clearly totally committed to partying tonight.

"Did you want to go and dance, too?" Jeremy says in her ear.

She turns back to himand shakes her head. Maybe she does, but considering she invited him, it'd be kind of rude to ditch him when he just walked in the door. She turns and pulls herself up until she is sitting on the edge of the bench, taking over Holly' perch and downing the last of her beer.

He pulls two out of his pack and passes one to her.

"Thanks," she tells him, eyeing Nina and Pete as they continue to chat at the other end of the bench.

"I don't what these are like," Jeremy shrugs, inspecting the label. "I found them in the fridge at work. Colombian, I think."

"Where do you work that you find random Colombian beer in the fridge?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she unscrews the cap with the sleeve of her top.

"A music studio," he tells her.

"How very rock and roll," Gail raises an eyebrow, impressed.

"Not really. It just sounds it ", he shrugs, grinning, tapping his beer gently against Gail's before taking a sip. "You know, me and my three chords, we just supervise. We don't play."

"Still," Gail shrugs. "It's kind of cool."

"You know what I actually do?" he asks her.

She shrugs. How would she know?

"I manage the bookings for rehearsal and recording spaces for the kind of people who couldn't organise a drink in a brewery and inevitably turn up late or at the wrong time no matter how many times you email or call to confirm the times _they_ asked for," he tells her. "And then I clean up after them when they finally drag their asses in to play and then leave. And let me tell you something, Gail, musicians pretty much live up to their reputation for being pigs. So, not the prettiest job in the world, either."

She pulls a face. She has to concede it does kind of sound less appealing now.

He pulls himself up on the bench next to her and they sit there in the swampy thoroughfare of the kitchen, drinking surprisingly good Colombian beer and comparing life notes while the party escalates around them. A ceaseless trail of people flows past, moving from the dance floor to fridge, or to the back door for air. As the house fills, it is getting steamy and hot, and the whole house smells like beer breath and sweat and something vaguely hippy, like incense.

Despite the constant flux of people through the kitchen, she doesn't see any of her friends for a while. Holly and Robbie are probably still on the dance floor, she guesses. She hasn't even seen Eli yet, although he's supposed to be here. And she hasn't laid eyes on Pete and Nina for a while, either. They disappeared at some point when she wasn't looking. She raises her eyebrows at that realisation. She hadn't thought of _that _particular potential. Nina and Pete. Thatcould be good. About time Nina dated a non-idiot, too, she thinks.

Part of her would kind of like to go and find all of them. She hadn't really thought this part through the other night, when Nina was discussing their plans to meet up and come to this party, and Gail off-the-cuff invited Jeremy to come along if he wanted. She forgot she'd be kind of responsible for him if he came. It's not that she doesn't like him. She does like him, in some kind of benign, unsure-yet way. But she also wanted to celebrate with her friends tonight, and instead they are all scattered to the high winds of this party somewhere.

It's not long though, before Robbie appears pushing his way in again through the back door. Gail has no idea how he made it around the house, but he has.

"Hey, you guys, come here!" Robbie calls out to them, beckoning, unable to get much closer than a few feet away before the push of the crowd forces him back like he's caught in a rip tide threatening to carry him back out the door.

"Where?" Gail calls.

"Just come," he yells, gesturing over his shoulder. "And bring whatever drinks you have," he calls, already edging toward the door.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows at her and picks up his beer.

"What, are we going hiking or something?" he asks.

She shrugs. She has no idea what is happening. But that's Robbie for you.

"Shall we?" he says, picking up the rest of his beers and jumping down.

"Why not?" she shrugs, pushing herself off the counter and following Robbie's bright hair out the door.

They find themselves fighting their way outside and following Robbie through the small, crowded courtyard and around to the side of the house where Eli is waiting for them, beckoning and grinning. The three of them follow him down the side of the house, along a ridiculously narrow path sandwiched between the walls of the house and a thick leafy hedge.

"What the hell are we doing?" Gail grumbles, pushing some greenery out of the way and trying not to get scratched in the face by wayward branches.

Eli stops suddenly at the foot of a tall ladder. He points upward.

"We're going on the roof."

"Why?" Gail asks, pulling a face.

Robbie lets out a huge sigh.

"Gail, did you ever watch the _X Files_ when you were a kid?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"Remember when Scully was being all doubty and stick-in-the-mud and Mulder would turn and look at whatever crazy shit was happening and say, "Just go with it, Scully?" You remember that?"

"Are you calling me a stick-in-the-mud?" Gail punches him in the shoulder.

"No, but I _am_ telling you just to go with it," Robbie says, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek before putting his foot on the first rung. "Because, why not you know?"

Gail just shrugs. While they watch Robbie make his way up, Jeremy introduces himself to Eli, and Gail once again mutters her apologies for not doing it earlier. She's feeling kind of behind the ball tonight, introduction-wise.

As soon as Robbie gets to the top, disappearing over the edge of the roof, Eli turns to Gail, grinning cheesily and holding a hand out toward the ladder like it's a game show and the ladder is the prize. Gail looks at her near-full beer, wondering what to do with it.

"Here," Jeremy says quickly, reaching for it.

"But then what …" she starts to ask, but he takes both their bottles and stuffs one each in the deep front pockets of his jacket. He holds out his hands and grins.

"Ta da!"

Gail laughs. She turns and puts her foot on the first rung, glad she's wearing sturdy boots and even gladder she didn't wear a skirt. She takes a deep breath and begins the climb. It's a long way to the top of what she didn't notice until right now was a double storey house. And by the time she is halfway up, she doesn't really want to look back down. Instead, she takes another breath and keeps climbing, a little slower now, until she is finally at the top.

She clutches the sides of the ladder and peers up on to the surprisingly flat rooftop. Pete and Robbie and another guy are already up there, huddled near the brick chimney several feet away, where part of the roof starts to slant upwards to meet the next house.

"You made it alive!" Robbie laughs. He gets up and trots over, taking her hand and steadying her as she steps carefully over the top of the ladder and onto the top.

She straightens up slowly and grabs Robbie's other sleeve to assuage the vertigo that sweeps over her as the world falls away in front of them.

They are surrounded on all sides by factories and warehouses and even a tall silo shooting up into the night sky. Every now and then a few houses like this one sit scattered amongst the industry, and through a break between two warehouses, she can see the lights of the city and way, way above her and the city haze, the star struck sky.

"It's amazing, isn't it," Robbie says, looping his arm through hers.

"Kinda," Gail nods, breathing in to the cooling night air and staring. It is.

Jeremy's head appears at the top of the ladder. He grins up at them, putting the last couple of beers in his pack onto the roof and throwing his leg over and swinging up to standing. He comes and stands beside them, taking in the view, as Eli climbs up behind him.

Gail lets go of Robbie, steps back a little further from the edge and turns a full circle, taking in their surroundings on all sides; sky and stars and the faintest traces of cloud. She can hear the sounds of the party down stairs, the crush of voices, and hoots and laughter filtering up around her, and the thudding of the bass from the dance floor inside under the soles of her boots. It _is_ amazing.

They park themselves in a circle next to the chimney, laying out the drinks they have managed to carry on Pete's overcoat in a ridiculous, alcoholic parody of a picnic. Jeremy pulls her beer from his pocket and passes it to her.

"Thanks," she says, looking around at the other few other small groups of people up there, hanging out in small circles or pairs, keeping to themselves.

"Ooh, guess what I've got!" Robbie rummages in his bag. He pulls out a tiny tea light candle. Taking a lighter out of his pocket, he leans over and tries to light it.

"I want to ask _why_ you have it," Gail tells him. "But the answer will probably never be as good as the random fact you have a candle in your bag."

"And you would be right," Robbie nods, grinning at her as he tries to coax a flame by cupping his hand around the flimsy little needle of fire coming off the wick. It finally comes alive, and the next thing they know, it is flickering wildly, throwing weak, dancing shadows across the chimney, roof and skin.

Gail sits with her back against the chimney, Jeremy next to her, pulling her knees to her chest and zipping her jacket up to her neck. It's not exactly the warmest of nights for rooftop picnics, especially the kind of roof _not _designed for picnics or even inhabitants, but she doesn't care. She loves it up here. It feels like they are survivors of some great flood, huddled above the world together.

Robbie reaches into his bag and places his half-full bottle of tequila on the 'blanket' and starts pulling shot glasses from his pockets. "We may have to drink in shifts. I only have four glasses," he says.

Gail shakes her head and laughs, remembering that first party with him, when he'd done the same thing, only pulling glasses from his bag.

"Seriously, you are like some sort of a mutant boy scout. Always totally prepared," she laughs.

Robbie just looks up and laughs, then he pulls out his phone and starts reading something on the screen.

"Yeah, ready for debauchery," Eli adds, chuckling. He holds up his hand at the tequila.

Robbie just shrugs, finishes typing something into his phone and then pours out a round of shots. "Tell me you don't appreciate my boy scout talents right now, huh?"

"Oh, we appreciate it," Pete says, assuring as Robbie pushes a glass toward him.

"And I am keeping things classy," Robby insists.

Gail just laughs at that, leaning forward and taking up the two glasses Robbie has placed in front of them. She passes one to Jeremy. He smiles his thanks. Robbie holds his own aloft in the air.

"To the end, to the beginning, to whatever." He slings back his shot.

"Totally deep, man," Pete teases, holding his up and drinking it down.

Jeremy turns to Gail and they sombrely clink glasses, drinking. Gail feels the heat course down her throat and into her chest, wincing. She puts down the glass and leans against the chimney with a sigh. Yep, it's been a week, but she still loves tequila.

The shrill sound of some eighties pop song bursts into the air, overriding even the music belting out from the house below. Robbie pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers it, listening for a second, shaking his head and grinning.

"No, I am _no_t joking," he laughs. "Yes, seriously, the ladder by the wall down the side." he tells whoever it is at the other end, still laughing. "I told you, just _do_ it. You will not regret it." He hangs up on whoever it is.

Next thing they know, they can hear a shrill shrieking laugh coming up the ladder. It's Nina. She gets to the top, spots them and screams at Robbie.

"This is what I do for you!" she laughs, clearly already pretty drunk. "I am terrified of heights. Now someone has to help me."

Eli laughs and gets up, going over to the ladder and helping to haul Nina up onto the roof. She cackles loudly and moves away from the edge, holding onto Eli's jacket and shielding her eyes from the view with her hand.

When she gets over to them, she drops her hand and looks around at them all.

"Gail!" she squawks, coming over and dropping down on to the roof next to her.

"Yes, Nina?" Gail says, grinning at her.

"My evil friend." Nina pokes her affectionately on the nose.

Gail swats her hand away. "What have _you_ been doing?"

"Nothing," Nina sings, leaning against Gail's side and resting her head on her shoulder. "Drinking. Christ, I am going to have to sober up before I go back _down_ that ladder," she mumbles, turning and pointing at it likes it is the one making life hard, not all the drinks she's clearly been belting. Then she turns to the group and looks around, suddenly pointing at Pete and his friend.

"I know you. You're Pete," she says loudly, squinting into the darkness. "But who are you?" she turns the finger directly on the other guy.

He just laughs, holding up his hands as if to protest his innocence.

"I'm Dan," he says, chuckling. "Nothing to see here."

"Are you a nice guy, Dan?" Nina asks him, still holding an interrogative finger up at him.

"I think so," he says. "But you'd probably have to ask my grandmother."

"Well, I'll take your word for it," Nina says, using Gail's shoulder to push herself up to standing and unsteadily tiptoeing over to where he is sitting. She plonks herself down next to him, holding out her hand.

"I'm Nina," she tells him. He sombrely takes the offered hand and shakes it.

Jeremy turns to look at Gail, one eyebrow raised. She just laughs and shrugs.

"Hey, has anyone seen Holly lately?" Robbie asks. "She is MIA."

"Me." Nina turns from her scrutiny of Dan. "That girl is _dancing_," she declares like there isn't a doubt in her mind, like she'd willingly testify in a court of law on the topic. She turns straight back to Dan and starts firing questions at him.

Gail shakes her head, giggling. Nina is such a delightful idiot.

And of course Holly is dancing. The thought of going to find her and join her crosses Gail's mind. She hasn't seen her all night. And she would if it didn't mean finding her way back down that ladder. And Gail has a feeling getting down it is going to be vaguely more terrifying than climbing up it. Nope, she's not braving it now. Not after tequila.

Pete and Jeremy start talking across her, comparing notes on trips they have both made to Mexico and Central America. Gail sits back, beer in hand and just listens, sure her family's European holidays won't impress much here. They have been all over the place, not just the major cities, or those awful spring break places she has heard about, populated by the US kids and some Canadians too, taking over towns and partying it up like pigs for a week or two. No, these guys both have all kinds of stories about strange little encounters, near-misadventures in out-of-the-way places, spurious border crossings. Stories to tell all your life. And she's envious. She wants to have adventures like that, to be able to remember these kinds of experiences. Instead, she just sits back and listens to them and to all the talk flowing around her.

Later, a few shots later, when the edges of the night are starting to smudge into drunkenness, more people seem to start discovering the ladder and come up on to the roof.

"Welcome!" someone shouts grandiosely every time another new person arrives.

Gail smiles and watches as heads pop up over the edge of the roof, whoever it is invariably laughing, delighted, when they see the private little party they have found, calling down to whoever is below them to follow. One couple who comes up even begin slow dancing, laughing hysterically as they waltz clumsily around a flat section of the roof, nowhere near in time with the loud beats of the music playing down below.

Gail takes the beer Jeremy passes to her as he continues to tell Pete about some crazy man living in a cave on a beach somewhere she's never heard of, and watches the trail of people coming up, only half-listening. She watches idly as a girl with short brown hair clambers up the ladder, struggling with her long dress as she tries to get her leg up onto the roof. When she finally makes it, the sweeping hem gathered in a bunch in her hands, she kneels down and leans over the edge, laughing and calling down to someone. Another head pops up behind her, head tipped back, laughing in response to whatever the girl has said and clutching the sides of the ladder.

It takes Gail a moment in the semi-darkness to realise the second head is Holly's. She smiles and watches her make the step from the ladder to the roof somewhat more gracefully than her companion, her long legs making the climb easily.

Robbie clearly spots her too as she stands up at the top of the ladder, brushing down the legs of her jeans and staring, like everyone does when they get up here, at the sweeping view of the world around them. He lets out a loud wolf whistle and, like she knows exactly who it is just from the whistle, Holly turns, locates him in the semi-darkness and waves, laughing. But she doesn't come over. She just turns back to the girl with her, staring around them.

Then Gail watches as Holly follows the girl over to the other edge of the roof, facing the front of the house, looking out over the side, clutching each other's arms as they cautiously step up to the edge, taking in that view. Eventually they sit unsteadily down, legs hanging over the edge of the roof, laughing about something, shoulders nearly touching.

For a second Gail feels a flash of envy at their easy intimacy as they sit and talk and laugh right in her eye line. Then she immediately checks herself. Why? It's not like Holly is exclusively _her_ friend. She chastises herself for being so possessive. Besides, it's not like Holly doesn't have tons of other close friends, already, friends she's known longer than Gail. And she's totally the kind of person who is always going to attract new people around her all the time, so there is no point getting jealous. Gail frowns. Why feel like that about this random girl? Holly can talk to someone at a party, she tells herself.

Maybe it's the staying with her during the time her parents were gone, she tells herself. She's stupidly started thinking of Holly as _her_ person, somehow. She shakes her head. Not smart. Holly has got her people already, like Robbie. And then there's her best friend, Maya and her brother, who she mentions a lot. God, if she gets like this about some random stranger, what's Gail going to be like when Maya is around? She is coming home sometime this summer, apparently, and Holly might not have time for her at all, then.

Or maybe it's just because Gail wanted to hang out with Holly tonight. Too self-conscious, she didn't want to admit it earlier, but she really did miss Holly too over the last couple of weeks, just like Holly claims she missed her. After that intense stretch of hanging out and being each others' company, support and ears, she felt almost bereft for a while there when she went home. Yeah, that's what it is, she thinks: she's probably just feeling possessive because she thought she'd get some Holly time tonight to catch up again.

Shrugging inwardly, she turns her head back to the conversation, tuning back in. Pete and Jeremy are talking about medicine now. Pete is telling him some story about a botched operation he heard about at school, all guts and goo and stupid mistakes. She tunes out again. She's had enough hospital gore of late. Instead she turns to Robbie and Eli, and they start to tell her about these portraits one of Robbie classmates took for the exhibition, of an old woman who collects so many china trinkets she ran out of space to display them, so she has them glued to her walls and her rooves in her house. Gail laughs. That would be pretty terrifying to witness.

Eli leans in to show Robbie a message he has just gotten on his phone and Gail tunes out, looking up just in time to Holly and the girl stand up, stepping back from the edge of the roof. The girl says something, throwing her arms up and laughing and then kind of overbalances. Gail watches as Holly quickly reaches out and grabs her arm, steadying her, though she was at no real risk of falling. As she regains her balance, the girl grabs Holly's waist. And Gail watches, as that hand stays right where it is on Holly's waist as they continue to laugh and talk. And embarrassingly, she feels a slow blush creep up her face as she comes to the sudden realisation that this hand on that waist mean this is maybe not Holly making a new _friend_. She bites her lip and looks away quickly, taking a swig of her beer, trying to stem the flush. She wasn't expecting _that_.

Before she can stop herself, and even she knows she should really be minding her own freaking business; she surreptitiously glances back over at them. The girl no longer has her hand on Holly, but she is standing really close, saying something to her. She sees Holly nod slowly. Then the girl reaches over, rests her fingers briefly on Holly's stomach, leaning in and saying something to her again, smiling. And then they turn in unison and walk toward the ladder. The girl goes over first, holding her dress in her hands again. Holly pauses at the top, crouched by the top of the ladder and Gail sees her look up, sort of in their direction before swinging her foot over the side of the roof, and she wonders fleetingly, insanely, if she called out to Holly, would she come back to them? And then just as quickly, she turns away, back to the huddle by the chimney. Why would she do that? Let Holly do whatever it is she is doing with that girl, Gail shrugs. It's none of her business.

"Hey," Jeremy nudges her.

"What?" she says, more sharply than she intended.

"Didn't you say you've been to Italy?"

"Uh, yeah, why?" she mutters, trying to catch up with what they are talking about.

Within the hour— sooner maybe— the temperature starts to drop and the wind picks up, blowing out their little tealight candle. And what was a cool starry night turns swiftly to something cold and windy and less hospitable. They decide to leave their little kingdom on the rooftop. Eli clambers down first, and Robbie stands above, supervising Nina's wobbly, screeching descent. Gail follows her, accepting Jeremy's hand as he steadies her first, vertiginous step down from the roof onto the ladder. Then she lets it go, and hurries quickly and carefully down the ladder, testing her foot is on each rung carefully before she puts her weight down. Once they are all landlocked again, they wander back around through the courtyard and back into the warmth of the kitchen.

The party has petered out in their absence. The dance floor has died, and only the dregs are left, clustered in groups in the kitchen and sprawled across couches and beanbags in the lounge room talking, some whiny music on in the background. Two guys have even started playing with the Playstation, an audience around them. Gail wrinkles her nose. Who does that at a party?

"Yeah, this is our cue to leave," Eli sighs. "When the gamers come out, the night is over."

Gail nods.

Everyone grabs their jackets and stuff "Hey, should we find Holly?" Pete suddenly asks

"No, she's fine," Robbie says quickly, pulling on his scarf. And Gail realises that he probably saw what she saw, too.

"I'm just going to say goodbye to Rose," he says, leaving them there and going up to the girl whose party it was. She is lying across the back of the couch, talking to a guy with a bottle of red wine in his hand.

They all gather at the door and wait for Robbie. Gail crosses her arms, leans against the wall and impatiently waits for everyone to get ready to leave. She is suddenly feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly over this party now. All she wants to do is lie down, watch some TV or something— to find some quiet.

When Robbie is back they step out onto the street, and the others turn, headed toward the main road. Jeremy stops in the middle of the pavement and turns to face Gail, smiling.

"Hey, so if, you know, if you need a place to crash, you're welcome to come stay." he raises his hands in the air. "Not trying to lure you into my bed, or anything, I just know you live pretty far," he adds quickly. "I have a couch, too. And I think I've proved myself a gentleman in such a scenario before," he grins. "Or we could go get another drink or something?" he adds, shrugging.

She chews her lip, not quite sure what to say. This time is nothing like last time. She was drunk then. Very drunk. She knew not what she did. This time there would be the expectation that she'd be making decisions, and she is not sure she is in any mood to make any decisions regarding him or anything right now.

She looks at him, biting her lip. He just smiles back at her, waiting, his hands in his jacket pocket, kind of leaning forward over his toes. She takes a deep breath, knowing she just wants to get to Nina's and to go to sleep, but not knowing how to brush him off. She feels so graceless and so over it right now, she'd like to just walk away, but she also knows he's done nothing to deserve her shitty mood.

She wants this night to be over, but she doesn't know quite how to make it be over.

Then, before she can stop herself, or question the move, she rises onto her toes and kisses him once, briefly on the lips. But she doesn't need to question it, anyway really, because she already knows it's a dumb move, even as she's doing it, and that it's more of a deflection than anything, a way out of this night without being an asshole to him.

So, before he can say anything, she sighs.

"Sorry, I'm just kind of tired," she tells him. "And I said I'd stay with Neen. She just broke up with her boyfriend and …"

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain yourself," he says, holding up his hands again. "It was cool hanging out with you again, though. It was fun. And, you know, maybe we could do it again?"

"Yeah, sure," she tells him, but she knows she doesn't sound as enthusiastic as she should. And she knows she should because he is being lovely.

"Or not," he says, clearly trying to give her an out.

"Sorry," she mutters, trying to smile at him. "I'm just really tired. Call me or something? Next week? I mean, if you want."

He just nods and smiles, and she really doesn't know which of the many messages he is getting. But then, she is not really sure she knows which one she is intending to send, either.

"Okay, sure."

He reaches out and kind of hugs her, but that's it, like maybe he's already figured it out. "Anyway, I gotta go that way." He jerks his thumb behind him, "so I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." she smiles at him again, swaying back and forth slightly, feeling incredibly gauche.

"Thanks for inviting me on your rooftop adventure. See you."

"Yeah, see you," she pulls in a deep breath, waiting for him to go.

He stuffs his hands in his back pockets and turning on his heels, striding back down the street, shoulders hunched over. She watches him walk and lets out a breath.

She shakes her head. _What the hell is she doing?_

Slowly, she turns back toward the others. They are marching up the street ahead of her. Even from here she can see the boozy lilt in their collective gait. She digs her hands into her jacket pockets and hurries after them.

Nina turns around and spots her, just as she is catching up to them.

"What are you doing?"

"Hey, can I still stay at yours?" Gail asks her quietly as she draws near.

"What?" Nina squawks, standing stock still on the footpath, her hands on her hips. "You're coming with _me_?" she turns around and looks down the street, toward the distant figure of Jeremy, looking tinier and tinier as strides toward the lights of the intersection. "You're leaving _that_ behind for my scummy couch?"

"So what? Shut up. I'm tired." Gail growls; grabbing her arm and turning her around. "Let's go,"

"Oh-kay," Nina laughs.

They hurry up the street and Nina steps off the curb, skipping over to join Eli and Dan and Pete, who for some unknown crazy reason are walking right up the middle of the road, walking along the white painted line, playing some weird game of follow-the-leader, taking it in turns to walk at the front.

She falls into step with Robbie. He automatically slips an arm through hers, but doesn't say anything at all.

Then, silently he holds out the beer he is carrying. She shakes her head. She doesn't want anything else to drink tonight. They walk on in silence, hearing the strains of music from some other party still going somewhere nearby and the sounds of a siren somewhere in the distance. Fire, Gail notes as they walk. Her father trained her to discern the difference between sirens before she even started school.

Robbie lets go of her arm and thrusts his hands in his pockets. It is freezing now. You wouldn't think summer was on its way.

"Hey," she says quietly, as they trudge along the street, watching the others do whatever lunatic thing they are doing in the middle of the quiet street.

"Hey what?"

She gnaws at her lip, wondering if she should even be asking this. But then, because she can't stop herself, she just asks anyway.

"Is Holly, like, bi … or something?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, draining the last of his beer and tossing it into a trashcan as they pass.

"You know, that sounds strangely like …" He turns and gives her a look.

"What?" she asks, knowing she is somehow about to regret asking this question.

"Something you should be asking Holly," he says quietly.

"Yeah, I know," Gail stutters, blushing. "I just ... wondered …" she trails off.

He shrugs, silent for another long moment.

"She's just doing her thing," he says quietly. Then he adds. "Figuring stuff out."

She nods and doesn't say anything else, sensing he is being protective of Holly somehow, and that she, Gail, has somehow, unthinkingly, tested his loyalty to his friend.

Slightly mortified now, both by the asking and the being chastised for asking, she changes the subject quickly.

"I never asked, is Eli going to come to the cottage with us?"

"He wants to," Robbie says, as they walk the last stretch up to a main road and, hopefully toward a cab that will take her to a bed. "If that's still cool?"

"Of course," she tells him quickly. "I said it was."

"Just checking," he says. "He's pretty excited. And he says he'll bring food. He's an awesome cook."

"Good," Gail says. "Because I am _not_ cooking."

She hadn't even though of the food thing, actually, but they'll all have to eat sometimes.

"Yeah, I didn't picture you as the Nigella type, somehow," he chuckles, throwing his arm around her.

"_Definitely_ not," she replies.

He squeezes her closer, chuckling, and holding her there. And she knows it is partly his way of telling her that it is okay that she overstepped something a minute ago.

She looks over at the others. They are now giving each other piggyback rides, Pete carrying Eli, and Nina doing a terrible job of trying to carry Dan. She keeps picking him up, taking a step or two and then dropping him, laughing hysterically. Gail shakes her head.

"Maybe we should invite this Dan guy," she laughs. "Nina seems to quite like him."

"I was just thinking that, too."

"Hell yes!" she hears Nina yell suddenly.

"What? Can she _hear_ us?" Gail asks, baffled, giggling.

"Nope, that was about some other can of crazy, I think," Robbie says quietly, laughing.

And he's right; because Gail watches her as suddenly she gives up trying to pick up Dan, spins around and trots over to Gail and Robbie.

"Karaoke!" Nina cries. "We're going into town to do karaoke. How fun would that be?"

"Um, none?" Gail retorts, shaking her head.

"Oh come _on_!" Nina pleads, hands clasped together. "It'll be hilarious!"

Robbie shrugs. "Why the hell not?"

"Come on Gail," Nina begs, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her for a second.

But Gail shakes her head, digging the toe of her boot into a crack in the pavement. She does not have karaoke in her tonight, or any other night, really.

"Sorry but listening to you guys duet your little hearts out is not my idea of a good time right now," she tells her as Nina immediately starts pouting. "Lying down and watching shitty television, however, _is_ currently my idea of a good time."

* * *

**IV**

And when she gets back to Nina's empty messy little flat she gets exactly what she wished for: a little peace time. She curls up on the couch with a blanket around her, watching some awful new modelling reality show Nina has recorded in the darkened living room. It's as heavenly as it is going to get tonight.

She should really go to sleep, knows. But it's after four and she is wide-awake. Tired, but wired, her mind keeps turning back over the night and everything that happened from leaving her house to now. But mostly, it keeps turning inexorably back to that moment on the roof, and to Holly and that girl. To that hand on Holly's waist.

Why had this potential for Holly to be into girls never occurred to her? Why didn't she ever consider that that time they kissed was not a first, or maybe not even that unusual for Holly? That would be a possible, or part, explanation for that little moment of crazy. Maybe she does this kissing girls thing all the time?

Gail rests her head against the sofa cushion and bites her bottom lip. She doesn't think so, though. She feels like if it was that usual for Holly, she'd know about it already, in some vague way at least. She knows about the guys in Holly's life, already. About Pete. About that ex boyfriend she cheated on at a party. And she told her just a week or two ago, a story involving a guy she dated for a year in high school. Surely if there had been girls in there, they would have come up too. Maybe Holly's not the _most_ forthcoming about her love life— she's no Nina—but she's not that secretive about it, either.

And she clearly wasn't that secretive about it tonight, not if Gail and Robbie could both figure it out. But Holly was also probably pretty damn drunk by then, if her state earlier is anything to go by. Still, she wasn't exactly hiding it.

Whatever it is, Gail has to admit this new piece of information has thrown her although she doesn't know exactly why. It doesn't really change anything, does it? It's not like Holly being with a girl should throw any kind of spanner into their friendship. But for some reason seeing her with that girl tonight, and witnessing what was clearly a current of something, however drunken, between them, has weirded Gail out. And she's not sure if it is just envy because she really wanted to hang out with Holly tonight— wanted her friend all to herself, or if it is something else.

And that something else is the fact that they kissed once, drunk at a party, and now, knowing what she knows about Holly now, tonight, that kiss has taken on a new shape in her mind. It's bigger now, maybe more important in some confounding, as-yet unknown way. She's yet to figure the dimensions of that part out, exactly.

When she'd thought about it before, she'd always just put that kiss down to a drunken, silly thing that happened between them, some intoxicated product of the giddy newfound intimacy of making that leap from people who orbited each other socially to being outright _friends_, with the extra, lavish help of hysterical laughter and tequila to egg them on, of course. But now she is not sure. She wishes she could remember that moment better, if only just to know how the hell it happened and who was responsible. But she doesn't, and she knows she'll probably never get that night back in full.

What she does know is that Holly treated it like no big deal at the time and afterwards. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe there is little to no connection between that drunken, silly moment and what happened tonight. Not for Holly, anyway.

But Gail can't help feeling a kind of sharp new awkwardness around the whole thing now, like something has shifted tonight. And she feels like she doesn't know how to re-orient herself around this new knowledge of Holly. Without even speaking to her tonight, something has changed, become charged with something she can't explain.

She sighs, shaking her head and turning the television volume up, like it might drown out all these stupid confounding thoughts. Why the fuck does she have to have feelings about this anyway, she thinks. So Holly might be bi. _So what_, she tells herself. She's irritating herself with these over-thinking thoughts now.

She's saved from anymore them, though, by a key turning in the lock and Nina being home, somewhat drunker and somewhat surprisingly, _sans_ Dan. Gail is thrown by that. She thought that was a sure thing Nina had going on there.

Nina kicks off her shoes, grabs a cushion off an armchair and throws it down on the couch against Gail's leg, flopping down next to her and curling up into a foetal position.

Gail just moves the remote off her lap and yawns, looking down at Nina.

"No Dan?" she asks.

"Nope," Nina shakes her head. "No Dan." she sighs. "I'm trying a new go-slow thing these days. It's all part of making _better choices_," she announces, suddenly sitting up, leaning over and fossicking around on the floor under the couch. Suddenly she sits up, book in hand and holds it out to Gail. It's called, unsurprisingly, _Making Better Choices About Love_.

Gail smirks, taking it from her and examining the pastel blue and pink cover.

"So your book told you to go home alone tonight?" she asks, passing it back to Nina without opening it. All these self-help books are the same: trite nonsense spouted in upbeat, patronising circles for a couple of hundred pages. Her cousin reads all of them _and_ has tried to lend Gail all of them at various times.

"Yup. At first at least," Nina nods. She flicks through it for a second before throwing it on the floor. "Stupid book," she sighs again, lying back down.

Gail smiles, staring vaguely the TV screen.

"I thought you might be into Pete," Gail smiles, poking Nina in the shoulder.

"Nah," Nina shrugs, yawning. "Not Pete."

Poor Pete, Gail thinks, knocked back by both Nina and Holly. And he's so nice, too.

"Hey, are you okay?" Nina suddenly asks. "You don't usually go home while the party is still going."

Gail just shrugs.

"Just tired, I guess."

"Fair enough," Nina sighs.

And so is Nina, apparently, because five minutes later she's asleep, snoring against Gail's leg.

Gail tries to wake her, but she won't be woken. She just grumbles and pushes Gail's hand away. So Gail covers her with a blanket and trudges into Nina's room, shutting off the light, falling into bed and pulling the covers over her head, trying her damnedest not to think any more.

**Well, congratulations for making it to the end of the longest chapter yet alive. And THANK YOU for your reviews so far.**

**And thank you to SG for saying, and I quote "Dammit woman put down the quill and pen and POST" followed by some profanity. I'm nothing if not obedient. Thank you for that and for your edit and for forgiving my fragmented afterthought sentences in fic and in general.**

**Also, I am writing recaps/analyses (term used used very tongue-in-cheekly) of the ACTUAL Rookie Blue S05 Gail/Holly storyline on my Tumblr blog. Check my author's profile for the links if you want to read.**


End file.
